‘Unlikely,’ said Aristo. ‘We know his ship was bound for Ostia. The weather’s been fair these past few weeks, and there haven’t been any reports of missing ships or wrecks. He should have arrived safely.’
‘Then something must have happened to him,’ said Flavia. ‘I hope Domitian didn’t catch him.’
Lupus wrote on his tablet with his right hand while raising his left.
‘Yes, Lupus?’
Lupus finished writing, then held up his wax tablet: HOW DID DOMITIAN KILL TITUS? HE DIED OF FEVER.
‘So far that’s only a rumour,’ said Flavia, irritably waving the mosquito away. ‘And even if he did die of fever, it might have been caused by poison.’
Aristo frowned. ‘But Domitian was back here in Rome when Titus died.’
‘It could have been a slow-acting poison. Or Domitian might have hired an assassin. But we know he’s behind the death of Titus. He’s been plotting against him for at least half a year. Taking the emerald before we could give it to Titus was part of his plot. So was his attempt to silence us with that decree. We just need to find out how Domitian did it, before the senate makes him emperor.’
‘Or we could flee back to Ephesus,’ said Nubia hopefully.
‘We can’t!’ said Flavia. ‘We’ve got to prove Domitian’s guilt.’
Lupus started to write something else on his wax tablet. DON’T THEY USUALLY DISPLAY BODY . . .
‘He’s right!’ Aristo snapped his fingers. ‘They usually display the body of a dead emperor to the public!’
‘We could go and examine it for signs of poison!’ cried Flavia, triumphantly smacking the mosquito on her leg.
‘Shhhh!’ came a voice from the doorway and they turned to see Sisyphus with his finger to his lips. ‘You’re being very noisy mice!’ he hissed. ‘If Senator Cornix returns early, then he’ll certainly hear you. I suggest you all go to sleep.’
‘He’s right,’ sighed Flavia. ‘We need to rest. We have a big day tomorrow. We have two mysteries to solve: how did Domitian kill Titus and where is Jonathan?’
The next morning at the second hour, Nubia and her friends went to the Forum Romanum with Sisyphus. The Greek secretary had told Senator Cornix that he had forgotten his portable inkwell and had come back on pretence of getting it. Now he was leading them down the steep hill called the Clivus Scauri. Nubia looked around, remembering how she had once been borne up this same hill in a litter: a couch with poles carried by strong men. It was the first time she had ridden in such a vehicle and it had felt like floating on air. She and Flavia and Lupus had been searching for Jonathan then, too.
But they were on foot now, and as they emerged from the cool shadows of the narrow street into the brilliant morning sunshine of an open boulevard, Nubia’s nostrils flared. The hot sun intensified the smells of Rome: smoke from a thousand braziers, mule manure from night deliveries and roasting flesh from the altars. Sisyphus led them to the right, towards the forum. He was wearing his umbrella hat – stained black in respect to Titus – so it was easy to follow him, even when the streets became crowded.
As they passed beneath the shadow of the great Flavian amphitheatre, Nubia shuddered. She and Flavia had faced hippos, crocodiles and man-eating bears there. She remembered the screams of the man dressed as Orpheus as the bears had torn him apart.
‘Are you all right, Nubia?’ asked Aristo. He was wearing one of Captain Geminus’s old tunics, the kind with two vertical red stripes. The sea voyage from Ephesus had deepened his tan and brought out the gold in his hair. She thought he looked like a bronze statue of the god Mercury.
Nubia nodded. ‘I am remembering the time we were in there.’
‘You met Titus, didn’t you?’ said Aristo, glancing up at the massive amphitheatre looming on their right. ‘And Domitian, too.’
‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘Domitian used his bow and arrow to save my life and Flavia’s.’
Aristo took her elbow to guide her around some fresh manure in the street. His touch thrilled her but she tried not to show any reaction.
‘If he saved your life,’ said Aristo, ‘you must admire him a little.’
Nubia remembered the way Domitian had looked at her and licked his lips. She shook her head: ‘No, I do not admire him, not even a little.’
‘We hate him!’ Flavia pulled the brim of her straw hat down to keep the sun out of her eyes. ‘It was Domitian’s idea to dress poor orphan girls as nymphs and throw them to hippos and crocodiles.’
‘That was Domitian’s idea?’ said Aristo. ‘But they were Titus’s games.’
‘Throwing us into crocodile-infested water was definitely Domitian’s idea,’ said Flavia with a shudder.
‘Yes,’ said Nubia. ‘Titus was angry with him for doing that.’
‘Titus wasn’t just angry!’ Sisyphus looked over his shoulder at Nubia. ‘He was furious! Remember how he rebuked Domitian in front of everyone and then told him to get out? What humiliation.’
‘Yes,’ said Nubia, remembering the look of pure hatred that she had seen on Domitian’s face.
Sisyphus turned to walk backwards. ‘I’ll never forget how you came down from the sky wearing your lionskin,’ he said. ‘Nubia ex machina!’
‘Please,’ said Aristo, wincing. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’
As they came into the forum – with its temples and shrines, its red-tiled roofs and coloured columns – Nubia saw that a crowd had gathered before an austere but elegant building covered with apricot-coloured plaster. Steps led up to a marble porch with eight fluted columns. Above the porch were three big windows, too lofty for anyone to be able to see inside, and above the windows was a triangular pediment. Everyone was gazing towards the bronze double doors.
‘What is that building?’ asked Nubia, as they reached the edge of the crowd. ‘A temple?’
‘It’s the Curia,’ said Sisyphus. ‘The senate meets there. It was damaged in the fire last year, but you can see it’s already been repaired.’
‘Is Uncle Cornix in there?’ asked Flavia.
‘Yes.’ Sisyphus beckoned them forward a little, until they stood beside a shrine of a god with two-faces. Nubia knew he was called Janus, the god of beginnings and ends.
‘Did you tell Uncle Cornix about Domitian?’ Flavia asked Sisyphus, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Did you tell him that Domitian is probably behind Titus’s death?’
Sisyphus lowered his voice, too. ‘I didn’t have a chance to raise the subject. But most of the senators already suspect foul play. Everyone knows how much Domitian resented Titus; he never hid the fact. Furthermore, they think he’s too independent. Doesn’t consult them enough.’ Sisyphus leaned closer. ‘Senator Cornix thinks they may give the principate to Sabinus.’
‘Who’s Sabinus?’
‘Flavius Sabinus is a cousin of Domitian and Titus. He was co-consul with Domitian two years ago. He married Titus’s daughter Julia. You remember him, girls. He was in the imperial box last year.’
Nubia nodded. She vaguely remembered Julia’s husband: a pleasant-looking man with reddish brown hair.
‘And unlike Domitian, Sabinus has two sons. Domitian’s only child died last month,’ added Sisyphus. ‘A little boy.’
‘Poor Domitian,’ said Nubia. Although she did not like him, she was sorry he had lost his child.
‘So you think the senate might make Sabinus emperor?’ asked Flavia.
‘I hope so. And so does Senator Cornix.’
The crowds in the forum were growing every moment and a fat man in a toga pushed Nubia up against Aristo.
Aristo slipped a protective arm around her, and glared at the man.
‘Excuse me,’ said the man, ‘I didn’t mean to step on your boy.’
Nubia glanced at Flavia and hid a smile behind her hand. She kept forgetting that she was dressed as a boy, too.
The bald man mopped his forehead with a fold of his toga, and glanced at Aristo. ‘Is it true?’ he asked. ‘Is Titus dead?’
<
br /> Aristo nodded. ‘The senate are choosing a successor now. It could take some time.’
At that moment the double doors opened and the crowd cheered as four soldiers appeared. Nubia could tell from their dazzling breastplates and red horsehair crests that they were special.
‘Praetorian guards,’ said Aristo in her ear. His breath sent a delicious shiver through her and she was glad that his arm was still around her shoulders. ‘He’s already won their support,’ continued Aristo. ‘And look: here come the senators.’
‘Ah!’ said Sisyphus. ‘There’s senator Cornix, now. I’m supposed to be waiting over there, with the other secretaries and scribes. I’ll see you later.’ He turned to go and then turned back and looked at Aristo: ‘Make sure you aren’t recognised,’ he said in a low voice. ‘These are dangerous times.’
He plunged into the crowd and Nubia saw his black umbrella hat moving through a sea of heads towards the Curia.
A man nearby cried: ‘Caesar! Caesar!’ and soon everyone had picked up the chant.
Nubia looked up at Aristo’s handsome profile. ‘Does this mean they are choosing a new emperor already?’ she asked him.
Aristo turned his head to look down at her. His arm was still around her shoulders and at that moment the crowd surged forward so that she was pressed up against him. Their faces were only inches apart. ‘What?’ he murmured, gazing into her eyes.
Nubia could not remember what she had been saying. There was something about his look, about the way he was slowly lowering his slightly parted lips towards hers, almost as if he was about to kiss her.
A finger tapped her shoulder and a voice behind her said, ‘Nubia? Is that you?’
And the moment was gone.
‘Nubia? Is that you? Is Flavia here, too?’
Flavia and the others turned to see a boy of about thirteen in a red-bordered toga.
‘Tranquillus!’ exclaimed Flavia, forgetting to be a slave-boy. ‘What are you doing here?’
He glanced quickly around, and hissed: ‘What are you doing here? There’s an imperial edict right over there on the rostra. It names the four of you as enemies of Titus.’
‘It’s all right,’ whispered Flavia. ‘We’re in disguise.’ She frowned. ‘So how did you recognise us, anyway?’
‘I heard Nubia’s voice,’ he said, ‘and I recognised her.’ He looked Flavia up and down and gave a grudging smile: ‘But I wouldn’t have recognised you.’
‘Flavia,’ said Aristo. ‘Who is this?’
‘Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus. We met him last summer at the Villa Limona. Tranquillus, this is our tutor Aristo. He’s pretending to be an equestrian and we’re his slaves.’
Tranquillus raised an eyebrow. ‘He really shouldn’t have his arm around his slave-boy,’ he said. ‘Or people will get the wrong idea.’
Aristo flushed and withdrew his arm from around Nubia’s shoulders.
Tranquillus turned back to Flavia. ‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near here. You shouldn’t even be in Italia.’
‘We know. But we wanted to warn Titus that his life was in danger.’
Tranquillus’s eyebrow went up again. ‘I think you’re a little late.’
Flavia ignored this last remark. ‘Jonathan should have warned Titus weeks ago,’ she said. ‘We came to the forum hoping to examine Titus’s body for signs of murder.’
‘Signs of murder?’ said Tranquillus, his brown eyes growing wide.
‘Yes!’ whispered Flavia. ‘We think Domitian either killed Titus or had him killed.’
‘For Jupiter’s sake, be quiet!’ he hissed.
Lupus pretended to drink something, then clutched his throat, crossed his eyes and slumped to the ground.
‘And don’t do that either!’ Tranquillus pulled Lupus to his feet and looked nervously around. ‘Do you want to get us all executed?’
The resounding clang of bronze on marble made their heads turn towards the porch of the Curia. Flavia saw a herald standing between the columns, before the crowd of senators. He banged his bronze staff again, and the crowd grew silent.
‘ROMAN CITIZENS!’ he bellowed. ‘AS MANY OF YOU KNOW, OUR BELOVED EMPEROR TITUS DIED YESTERDAY AT HIS SABINE VILLA.’
The crowd groaned.
Without taking his eyes from the herald, Tranquillus said, ‘Have you heard how Titus died?’
Flavia nodded and opened her mouth.
‘OUR BELOVED EMPEROR TITUS DIED OF A FEVER,’ blared the herald, ‘WHICH HE CONTRACTED ON THE ROAD. HE DIED IN HIS VILLA AT REATE. HIS BODY WILL BE ON DISPLAY THERE FOR SEVEN DAYS, IN ACCORDANCE WITH ROMAN CUSTOM. HE WILL BE CREMATED A WEEK FROM TODAY AND HIS ASHES PLACED IN THE TOMB OF THE FLAVIANS ON THE VIA APPIA.’
‘There goes your chance to examine the dead body of an overweight, middle-aged man,’ said Tranquillus with a grin.
‘IT IS MY HONOUR TO INFORM YOU,’ cried the herald, ‘THAT THE SENATE HAS TODAY GRANTED TRIBUNICIA POTESTAS AND IMPERIUM TO A MOST WORTHY SUCCESSOR, ALONG WITH THE TITLES OF AUGUSTUS AND PATER PATRIAE!’
‘What?’ asked Nubia.
‘The senate has chosen a new emperor,’ said Aristo.
Without turning her head, Flavia said to Tranquillus, ‘We think it’s going to be Sabinus. We have an inside source and he says . . .’ Her words died away as the bronze doors of the Curia swung open to the blare of two trumpets. The senators parted and a man in a purple toga moved to the front of the porch. The man was about thirty years old, dark-haired and of medium height. He was good-looking, with large dark eyes in a square face. His full, sensual lips curved into a smile and as he lifted his hands towards the crowd he drew an enormous cheer.
‘Oh no!’ said Flavia and Lupus gave his ‘uh-oh’ grunt.
‘Our new emperor is not Sabinus,’ said Tranquillus drily.
‘Behold it is Domitian,’ breathed Nubia.
‘I PRESENT OUR NEW PRINCEPS,’ proclaimed the herald, ‘AND MOST ESTEEMED LEADER: IMPERATOR CAESAR DOMITIANUS AUGUSTUS.’
The crowd cheered and Domitian bowed. Then his hand went to a green medallion hanging around his neck and he lifted it to his right eye.
‘It’s Nero’s Eye!’ gasped Flavia. ‘Domitian has Nero’s Eye!’
‘By Hercules, it is Nero’s Eye!’ said the fat man behind her, and as word passed through the crowd, the cheering grew louder.
Domitian was peering through the smooth, lentil-shaped emerald and scanning the cheering crowd, like a smiling, nodding, green-eyed Cyclops. His gaze passed over Flavia and her friends, then snapped back. His smile faded and he lowered the gem for a moment, then lifted it to his eye again.
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ said Flavia nervously. She tugged her straw hat down over her eyes. ‘He’s looking right at us.’
Lupus gave his ‘uh-oh’ grunt again.
‘He couldn’t possibly . . .’ muttered Aristo.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Tranquillus. ‘They say Domitian’s eyesight is rather dim.’
‘That cannot be,’ said Nubia. ‘Domitian is a most excellent archer.’
‘She’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘His eyesight must be excellent.’
‘Then why does he need Nero’s Eye?’
‘I think it makes far away things look closer.’
‘Just as well you’re in disguise,’ said Aristo.
‘Uh-oh,’ grunted Lupus for a third time.
Domitian was leaning back and speaking to one of the red-crested guards behind him, his green lens still trained on them.
‘Alas,’ whispered Nubia. ‘He is looking right at me.’
Flavia and Aristo both looked at Nubia.
‘Your skin,’ murmured Aristo, ‘and your eyes. Nobody could mistake them.’
‘If I recognised Nubia,’ said Tranquillus, ‘then so could he.’
‘I think,’ whispered Flavia. ‘That we should get out of here now.’
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ muttered Flavia, and repeated, ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Now!’ She could see two soldiers of th
e Praetorian Guard coming down the steps of the Curia towards them, parting the crowd like sharks in a shoal of anchovies.
‘By Hercules, I think you’re right,’ muttered Tranquillus, and he grasped her hand. ‘Follow me,’ he commanded. ‘All of you. Quickly!’
Flavia did not protest as he pulled her through the packed crowd. She glanced over her shoulder: Lupus, Nubia and Aristo were close behind, looking worried. And bouncing above the heads of the crowd beyond were the curved red horsehair crests of the guards’ helmets. They were getting closer.
Tranquillus and Flavia pushed their way through the people. Some cursed them, others made way smiling, most just ignored them. Flavia was dizzy with the smell of sweat mixed with the heavy perfumes used to cover the smell of sweat.
At last they emerged from the crowd and onto a side street. Still holding her hand, Tranquillus ran up it, then turned a corner. They seemed to double back, past an altar with the remains of a sacrifice still on it. Then up some sunlit steps between houses to a narrow shaded street with a wall fountain spattering water onto the cobblestones. Tranquillus’s toga had slipped down around his ankles, and now it almost tripped him up. He lurched forward, cursed, pulled it off and bundled it under his left arm.
They turned another corner and came back into the bright sunshine of a crossroads. There was a gleaming basin-type fountain where the two roads met, with a marble statue of a nearly naked gauze-clad nymph pouring water into it. Tranquillus gestured for them to hide behind this fountain, crouching down on its shady side. In the distance they could hear the crowd cheering. And above it the sound of jingling footsteps coming closer and closer . . . And then retreating.
‘Praise Juno,’ gasped Flavia. Her heart was thudding and a trickle of sweat ran down her back. ‘The guards are getting further away.’
Tranquillus was breathing hard, too. ‘In case we get separated,’ he gasped. ‘I live on the Quirinal . . . on Pear Street . . . Our house . . . is the one opposite the biggest pear tree. It has a porch with two spiral columns.’
He cautiously stood up and looked around. Flavia and the others stood up too. They all drank from the fountain and then Tranquillus pointed. ‘That way.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 257