The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  On the right bank of the Little Maeander, Ursus was smothering Lupus in a bear hug.

  ‘Nu gung hurd you,’ the giant was saying. ‘No gung hurd.’

  It took a moment for Lupus to understand that the giant was trying to reassure him.

  Lupus stopped struggling and Ursus released his grip. Lupus took a step back, but did not run away. Instead, he stared at the giant in disbelief. He had always assumed that Ursus was mute, but now he was talking.

  The giant was on his knees, so that his big head was level with Lupus’s. ‘Nod gung hurd you,’ he repeated. ‘Didn mean do scare you. Sorry.’ His eyes were wet.

  Without taking his eyes from Ursus, Lupus shrugged with his palms up, to say: Why?

  Ursus frowned. ‘I dond unnersdan,’ he said thickly.

  Lupus pulled out his wax tablet, flipped it open and with a trembling hand wrote: WHY ARE YOU BEING NICE? WHERE IS MINDIUS AND BABY? Then he held it up so that the light from the moon shone on it.

  Ursus shook his head. ‘Cand read,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Didn mean do scare or hurd you. Sorry. Will you furgive me?’

  Frowning, Lupus put his wax tablet away. Again he made the gesture asking: Why?

  ‘Why am I sorry?’ said Ursus. ‘Why am I gud now?’

  Lupus nodded.

  Ursus gave a radiant smile. ‘Becuz Ive been forgiven and Ive been healed.’ He stuck out his tongue and pointed at it. ‘Ive been healed and wand you do know. You can be healed, doo!’

  In the palm tree courtyard of the Villa Vinea, Nubia finished telling Aristo about her adventures in North Africa and Egypt.

  ‘Amazing,’ he kept saying. ‘That’s amazing.’

  The jasmine-scented courtyard was dimly lit by bronze hanging lamps, some of them were reflected in the mirror smooth pool beside them. The silver light of the rising moon illuminated the tops of the four palm trees.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Aristo softly, ‘I am going to gather all the children together and begin to teach them. It’s what I know how to do, and it will keep them busy and occupied. Do you think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘That is a very good idea. You are a wonderful teacher, Aristo.’

  The air was filled with the scent of jasmine, but as he moved a little closer she caught a subtle whiff of his musky lavender scent. It made her dizzy.

  ‘Nubia,’ he said softly. ‘I want to tell you something.’

  The tone of his voice made her heart begin to pound.

  ‘Something you said a few days ago . . . about being old enough for love . . . For a long time I thought . . . But then Flavia said . . . and I couldn’t bear to think . . . I’ve been such a fool . . .’

  Nubia couldn’t understand what he was saying. So she willed the pulsing roar in her ears to be quiet and when it was, she heard him say: ‘I loved Miriam so much!’

  Nubia felt sick. How could she compete with the most beautiful girl in the Roman Empire? A girl whose beauty would never fade or grow wrinkled?

  She had been right not to tell Aristo her feelings. He would laugh at her. Or despise her. Or worst of all: pity her.

  In the darkness she felt him take her hand in his. The shock of his touch was so powerful that she almost cried out.

  ‘You’re trembling again,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. She wanted to cry out: Why do you still love Miriam? She never loved you. But I do. I will always love you.

  But she knew it would be the worst thing she could do.

  So instead she snatched her hand from his and ran upstairs and groped her way along the dim corridor to the bedroom and threw herself onto the bed.

  And in the lonely darkness, she wept.

  ‘Ursus?’ said the prophet, rising up from the damp grass. ‘What are you doing here? And who is the boy?’

  ‘Fwend,’ said Ursus in his thick voice. ‘My fwend. Will oo pray for him?’

  Tychicus sighed. He looked dazed and tired.

  ‘Yes, of course I’ll pray for your friend,’ he said. ‘Leave us, Ursus. Go. Sleep. I will pray for your friend.’

  Ursus nodded and said to Lupus, ‘I will waid by yur horse. I will look afder her. Dond wand bad people to sdeal her.’

  Lupus nodded. His mind was spinning like a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel. Ursus was healed! He could speak. Could Tychicus heal him, too?

  As Ursus disappeared into the shadows, Tychicus turned to Lupus.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I sense the Spirit of God in you. But it is struggling with another spirit. The spirit of fear and pain. Let me pray for you. Here, let us sit on the grass.’

  Lupus grunted and sat on the lush grass beside the prophet.

  The man sat cross-legged and laid his hand on Lupus’s head. Then he closed his eyes and began muttering in his strange language. ‘I see a wolf cub,’ he said presently. ‘It is trying to howl in pain but it has no voice.’

  Lupus swallowed hard and his eyes swam with tears. How could the prophet know this? Had Ursus told him?

  The prophet opened his eyes. ‘What is your name boy?’

  Lupus pulled out his wax tablet and wrote: LUPUS. I AM MUTE.

  The moonlight showed his words clearly.

  ‘Ah,’ said Tychicus. ‘Ah.’ He closed his eyes again and after a time he said: ‘I see you in a great arena. You are praying to God.’

  Lupus uttered an involuntary gasp. A year and a half ago, when Jonathan had been tied to a stake in the Flavian amphitheatre at Rome, Lupus had promised God to serve him all his life if Jonathan lived. And Jonathan had been spared.

  ‘And now I see you in a boat, surrounded by a great expanse of water.’ The prophet opened his eyes and looked at Lupus in surprise. ‘The Lord has spoken to you. You know his voice.’

  Lupus nodded. The tears were running down his face, hot and wet.

  The prophet closed his eyes again. ‘And I see monsters sculpted from sand. They stand on the shore. But the power of God’s love, like wind and sea, is melting them to nothing.’

  Lupus nodded again, numbly. This man was telling him his whole life. Things he had never told anyone else, not even his friends.

  The prophet opened his eyes. They were no longer far-seeing. They were focused on Lupus, full of warmth and love. ‘You know all these things. You know the power of forgiveness and you know the power of God’s love. There remains only one thing.’

  Lupus looked at him, wide-eyed, ready to do anything.

  ‘You must die to yourself,’ said Tychicus, ‘so that you can be born from above. Are you ready to be baptised?’

  Lupus nodded. He was ready to be baptised. And to be healed.

  Tychicus used his walking stick to push himself up. Then he transferred the stick to his left hand and helped Lupus up with his right. ‘Come,’ he said, still holding Lupus’s hand. ‘Here is the river; here am I, and here are you. And God is always with us. Does anything prevent us?’

  Jonathan watched the lopsided moon swim up into a sky full of stars.

  A few hours earlier, at dusk, he and Flavia had finally caught up with Bato and his two soldiers at a clearing near the river. The soldiers had cheerfully shared their campfire and their rations. Jonathan and Flavia contributed grapes pulled from the vineyards and a bag of sunflower seeds.

  The night was warm and the grass thick, and now all the others were asleep. Even Flavia was snoring gently. From time to time, one of the horses would snort softly in the darkness. Jonathan remembered another time when they had slept beside a river, on the way to Athens.

  On that occasion he had thought himself pursued by Furies. He smiled bitterly. He would almost prefer the mythical snake-haired demons to this taunting relentless voice. Every day it seemed to grow stronger, more powerful. It was talking to him now. When had it started?

  He knew immediately. It had started in Alexandria the day Aristo had arrived with news of Popo’s abduction. That’s when the voice had started.

  He wished he could be
back in Alexandria, in that clean marble city of wide streets and pure air. Perhaps the City of God – the new Jerusalem – would be like that. He remembered vaguely seeing such a city once in his dreams.

  But now the voice was reminding him that if God really did exist, and if he had prepared a city in Paradise, then Jonathan deserved no part of it.

  ‘You started the fire,’ said the voice. ‘You are a mass murderer and you deserve to suffer. The place reserved for you is the garbage tip, Gehenna, where rubbish is burned for eternity.’

  *

  The prophet led Lupus down to the Little Maeander. It was transformed by the moon’s light into a dazzling milky path, snaking away to the northeast.

  Tychicus stepped in first and Lupus followed, pushing the reeds aside. The cool river mud squelched into his sandals and between his toes, but it was not unpleasant. The water was also cool, but warmer than the mud. As he followed the prophet, it swirled around his calves, then his knees, then his thighs, then his waist. When the water was up to Lupus’s chest, Tychicus stopped.

  He turned and faced Lupus.

  ‘Do you know why we do this?’

  Lupus shook his head.

  ‘It symbolises cleansing from our sins. A sin is anything we do that disappoints God or hurts our fellow man. Do you repent of all the sins you have ever committed?’

  Lupus thought for a moment, then shrugged and grunted yes.

  ‘Good. Then sin will no longer be your master. Do you accept Jesus as your lord, just as a slave would obey a new master?’

  Lupus grunted yes.

  The prophet gestured at the water. ‘Baptism also symbolises our death and rebirth. It is as if we go down to our grave and rise up again. We die to our old sinful life and are born anew to serve our new master. Are you ready?’

  For a third time, Lupus grunted yes.

  Tychicus laid his right hand on the top of Lupus’s head.

  ‘Then in the name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit, I baptise you, Lupus.’

  As Tychicus gently pushed on Lupus’s head, he let himself sink down beneath the shimmering skin of the river into the blackness beneath. The water swallowed him, and for a moment he imagined he was dead. Then Tychicus grasped the back of his tunic and pulled him up and Lupus rose gasping in to the cool thyme-scented night with its milky river and sky full of stars. The world felt clean and fresh and new. He felt different, too.

  His heart pounding with hope, Lupus put his finger inside his mouth to see if he had been healed.

  A moment later he opened his tongueless mouth and howled.

  ‘Wait, Lupus!’ cried Tychicus. ‘Come back!’

  But Lupus did not stop. He splashed through the black water to the left bank and ran up through dark reeds and squelching mud until he reached firmer ground.

  Even then he did not stop running. He left the lush grass behind, and ran into the scrubby plain full of rocks and dirt and prickly shrubs. Lit by moonlight, the world was black and white. Several times he fell, but he continued to run blindly.

  God knew everything about him. God had told the prophet his life. Lupus had been willing to die and be reborn. He was willing to serve God’s son as a slave served a master. But despite all this, God had not deemed Lupus worthy to be healed.

  Lupus howled again with rage and anguish.

  And finally he collapsed among the thorns and thistles, scratched and bruised and in a deeper agony of his soul than he had ever felt before.

  In his vision he sees arrowhead-shaped stars creep into the constellation of Aquarius, the water bearer. Some of the arrowheads collide with others and silent puffs of light are followed by darkness. The battling stars move slowly but he knows this is only an illusion because they are so far away. He knows they are immensely huge and unimaginably fast. And suddenly he understands. They are angels and demons, battling over the souls of men in the heavenly realms.

  Lupus woke at dawn to find himself being carried like a baby in the arms of a gentle giant. Birds were singing and the pure air was cool. The sun warmed his face and he looked up to see Ursus. The giant was weeping. His hot fat tears splashed onto Lupus’s tunic.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Lupus. I wanded him do heal you, doo.’

  Lupus nodded. He felt empty and sad, but touched to see his former enemy weeping.

  He patted Ursus on his massive chest, but this only made the giant weep more. They had reached the riverbank now, and the sun was making the poplar trees throw long cool shadows across the dew-drenched grass.

  Ursus put Lupus down beside his mare. Nearby was the black gelding from Halicarnassus.

  One of Tychicus’s assistants from the day before was taking a feedbag from its head.

  ‘They’ve been fed and brushed,’ said the youth to Ursus. ‘Tychicus says the man you are looking for lives in a rustic villa about five miles from here. Take the road south towards Halicarnassus. About two miles out of the city, you’ll reach a fork, take the road on the right. It’s another two or three miles. Up in the hills. Ask for the Fisherman.’

  Ursus nodded at him and looked down at Lupus. ‘We are going do see a man even greader than Dychicus. He will heal your dung. Will you come?’

  After a moment’s thought, Lupus nodded. Then he raised his eyebrows, as if to say: Who?

  ‘He knew Jesus when he lived in dis world,’ said Ursus. ‘And saw him afder he came back from da dead. If anyone can heal you, he can.’

  They rode for an hour – Lupus on his bay mare, Ursus on his black gelding – up into the mountains, and in the green hills three miles south of Ephesus they came to a rustic villa surrounded by trees.

  They dismounted at the front gate, and Ursus said to the doorkeeper, ‘Dychicus send us do see da Fisherman.’

  The gate swung open and they led their horses in. A one-storey complex of buildings formed three sides of a square around a farm courtyard and vegetable garden. Chickens pecked in the dust and a white-bearded old slave in a knitted skullcap stood in a bean patch, digging with his hoe. Lupus also saw onions, cucumbers and melons.

  There was a trough of water with posts nearby, so they tethered the two horses there, and let them drink.

  ‘Greetings,’ said a youth, running up to them. ‘May the Lord be with you.’

  ‘And also wid you,’ replied Ursus. ‘We seek da Fisherman.’

  From the bean patch the old bearded slave stopped digging. ‘I am he,’ he said in accented Greek. ‘I am the Fisherman.’

  With a cry, Ursus ran to the old man, knelt and began to kiss his feet.

  ‘No, no!’ chuckled the man. ‘Do not worship me. I am a child of God, as you are. Besides, it tickles. Also, you are trampling my beans. Come, get up. What is your name?’

  ‘I am Ursus and dis is Lupus. Dychicus send us.’

  ‘Ah. Tychicus. I hear he is baptising not far from here. Ask him why he has not come to see his old friend.’

  ‘He begs you do pray for dis boy. He has no dung.’

  The old man left his hoe leaning against the bean trellis and came over to Lupus. He had an eagle’s-beak nose, bushy white eyebrows and keen black eyes. He put his calloused hand lightly on Lupus’s shoulder. ‘So, you have no tongue?’

  Lupus shook his head.

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘His name is Lupus,’ said Ursus.

  ‘Ah, Lupus. The wolf.’ The old man chuckled again. ‘My name is Yohanan ben Zabdai. Some call me the Fisherman and some called me Ioannes, but you can call me John. I was one of Jesus’ twelve disciples.’

  Flavia groaned as she swung her leg over her horse’s back.

  They had woken at cockcrow, breakfasted on cold bits of grilled sheep entrails and now they were setting off on what promised to be the hottest day of the year. Her limbs ached and her bottom was impossibly sore.

  ‘Remind me why we’re doing this?’ she muttered. She was really speaking to herself but Jonathan answered.

  ‘I’m not sure why I’m d
oing it,’ he said, ‘but you obviously have something to prove.’ He kicked Tiberina hard in the flanks. ‘Come on, you old piece of horse-meat,’ he said angrily.

  ‘Jonathan, we’ve been in bad situations before but you’ve never been so bad-tempered. What’s wrong? Is it the voice? The dreams?’

  ‘I don’t mind the dreams,’ he said.

  ‘But the voice. You do mind that.’

  He stared resolutely ahead, his jaw clenched.

  ‘Why has it started now?’ she asked. ‘The fire was a year and a half ago.’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he snapped, and then added, ‘I wish I did.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help? To make it better?’

  Jonathan gave a bitter smile and shook his head. Flavia sighed deeply and they rode together in silence for a while, following Bato and the two soldiers, and squinting into the rising sun.

  Presently Jonathan said, ‘Before we moved to Ostia, we used to live in Rome, in one of those big apartment blocks. The latrines were downstairs, right at the bottom. One evening before bed, I was sitting there and I saw a bug on the floor. Just a little one. But one of its legs had been crushed and it was crawling in a circle around its leg. It was obviously in agony, going around and around in pain.’

  ‘Did you put it out of its misery?’ asked Flavia, glancing over at him. Beneath his straw sunhat, his profile was grim.

  ‘No. I couldn’t bear the thought of it smeared on the bottom of my sandal. I thought it would be dead soon anyway.’

  ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘The next morning I went back to the latrines. And it was still there, still alive, still going around in circles. It had been struggling in agony all night.’

  ‘Oh, how terrible!’

  ‘For such a little insect that night must have seemed like a lifetime.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘People are like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘People. Humans. We’re wounded and in pain and we go in circles on the floor of life’s latrine, never achieving anything. Waiting for God to bring down his foot and put us out of our misery by squashing us.’