Outside, the sun was up. The birds had settled into steady cheeping but the rooster was still crowing and now a wheezing donkey was welcoming the new day, too.
The warm bread had made Flavia sleepy again, and she yawned.
Nubia put her hand on Flavia’s forehead. ‘Your fever is gone but you should sleep a little longer.’
Flavia lay back and snuggled down into the warm bed. Meanwhile, Nubia shivered and pulled her own blanket tighter round her shoulders.
‘Do you have a fever?’
‘No, I am just a little chilly.’
Flavia lifted the blanket and scooted over towards the wall. ‘Come in with me, then.’
Nubia took off her sandals and slid under the blanket. Her feet were cold and Flavia warmed them with hers.
‘Thank you,’ said Nubia, and sighed. ‘I wish we were home.’
‘We can’t go home until we clear our names,’ murmured Flavia. ‘And I also want to find Jonathan.’
‘Perhaps Jonathan does not want to be found. He is making his own path in the desert.’
‘What?’
‘That is what my mother used to say: Some live happily in tents, but there are others who make their own path in the desert. It means some people like to be with other people, and some like to be alone. You and I are tent-dwellers, but Jonathan is the other.’
‘You think so?’ Flavia yawned. ‘What about Lupus?’
‘I think he was born a tent-dweller, but anger and pain made him alone. Now God is healing his heart, and he will soon live in a tent again. I hope with us in Ephesus.’
‘Not Ostia?’
‘I would rather live in Ephesus.’
‘Why?’
Nubia was silent for a long moment. ‘I was happy there,’ she said at last. ‘When I was with Aristo and the children. We were like a family.’
‘And the Villa Vinea has its own bath-house,’ murmured Flavia. ‘With a hot plunge.’
‘And a swimming pool,’ whispered Nubia, snuggling closer. ‘With palm trees.’
Flavia gave a sleepy chuckle.
‘Also,’ said Nubia. ‘I had a beautiful dream once of us living there happily.’
But Flavia was asleep.
*
Nubia woke, two hours later, to sunshine streaming through the window and the sound of two cats fighting outside. Flavia was sitting on the end of the bed, lacing up her sandals. Nubia sat up and pressed a hand to Flavia’s forehead and nodded with satisfaction. Her friend’s fever was gone.
They found the others waiting at a table in a sunny garden courtyard. Their hair was damp and Aristo’s cheeks were smooth, so were Hilario’s; they must have all been to the baths. They breakfasted on more brown bread and Sabine olive oil, and there were black grapes, too, bursting with juice and flavour. While Aristo paid their bill, the girls used the small bath-house, and by the time the carruca set out from Hector’s Hospitium it was not yet noon. Although Flavia insisted she was completely recovered, Nubia made her wrap up in a cloak and stretch out one of the carruca’s padded benches with her head on her lap. Lupus went to sit beside deaf Talpa, the driver. According to Hector, the rabbit-toothed innkeeper, they had a good chance of reaching Titus’s Sabine Villa in the late afternoon, or at least by dusk.
As the road began to ascend into wooded hills, Nubia pretended to look down at Flavia, but she was secretly watching Aristo through a tiny hole in the brim of her straw hat. He sat opposite her, next to Tranquillus and Hilario. He was wearing his equestrian tunic and a short red travelling cloak and he was looking forward, so that his profile was to her. Not for the first time, she thought how much he looked like a god from a red-figure Greek vase, except that his skin was not red; it was a beautiful bronze colour that was only a shade or two lighter than his hair. She longed to run her fingers through his curls.
‘Mater Sabina,’ said Tranquillus, stretching and smiling.
Nubia lifted her head so that she could see him properly. ‘Who?’ she asked.
Aristo gave her a gentle smile. ‘Not who. What. This area, Sabina, is considered by some to be Rome’s mother. That’s why they call it Mater Sabina.’
‘Why?’ asked Nubia, not wanting to lose his attention. ‘Why is it Rome’s mother?’
Tranquillus raised his eyebrows. ‘Because of the rape of the Sabine women, of course.’
Nubia frowned. ‘What is rape?’
‘It’s when a man takes a girl or woman by force,’ said Aristo. ‘Although in this case the word means “kidnapping” rather than violent . . . er . . .’ He trailed off.
‘Who was raping the Sabine women?’ asked Nubia.
‘Romulus, of course,’ said Tranquillus. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know about Romulus?’
‘I know about Romulus,’ said Nubia. ‘He was one of the twin babies who drinks milk of the she-wolf. Rome is named for him. But I do not know about the rape.’
Hilario looked down his nose at Aristo. ‘That’s quite a gap in your pupils’ knowledge,’ he said.
‘They know most of the story,’ said Aristo. ‘I just left out certain parts.’
‘Will you tell us everything?’ said Nubia to Aristo. ‘About Romulus and Remus?’
‘Beware of Remus!’ cried Flavia suddenly. She sat up and the blanket slipped from her shoulders as she looked around at them. ‘I knew the graffiti in the latrine looked familiar!’
At once, Nubia realised what she meant. ‘Jonathan!’ she cried. ‘The writing was Jonathan’s.’
Lupus was sitting at the front beside Talpa. Now he turned around and nodded vigorously and started to write something on his tablet. He held it up for them to see.
HECTOR’S HOSPITIUM. SAME GRAFFITI.
‘In the men’s latrine?’ asked Flavia.
‘Yes!’ said Tranquillus. ‘Someone wrote Cave Remum in the latrines of both inns we’ve stopped at so far, and on a tomb just outside the Collina Gate.’
‘And I noticed it on the fifth milestone,’ said Hilario.
‘It was Jonathan,’ cried Flavia. ‘Jonathan wrote it.’
‘Are you certain?’ said Aristo.
‘Yes!’ said Nubia and Flavia together, and Lupus nodded.
Hilario arched his heavy eyebrows at Aristo. ‘Do you mean to say one of your pupils wrote some graffiti and you didn’t even recognise his writing?’
‘It was all in block letters,’ said Nubia loyally.
‘The “E” is the clue,’ said Flavia. ‘Jonathan makes his letter E like an epsilon.’
‘That’s true,’ said Aristo.
From the front of the carruca, Lupus grunted and pointed at the thirtieth milestone, just passing by. Nubia saw the words scrawled in charcoal at the top: CAVE REMUM.
‘Behold!’ she said. ‘There it is again.’
‘You’re right, Nubia,’ said Aristo. ‘That’s Jonathan’s hand.’
‘Could it be a treasure quest?’ cried Flavia suddenly. ‘Like the one in Egypt?’
Tranquillus raised both eyebrows. ‘Treasure quest? Egypt?’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘When we were in Egypt this summer, we were following a trail of codes, riddles, and puzzles. It was a treasure quest. Maybe there’s a clue in the story of Romulus and Remus!’ she added.
‘So will you tell us the story?’ Nubia asked Aristo.
‘Of course I will.’ His beautiful brown eyes were smiling.
‘Euge!’ said Nubia softly, and clapped her hands.
‘And while Aristo is telling us,’ said Flavia to her friends, ‘Let’s hang on his every word and see if we can find the clue.’
Nubia gave a secret smile; she did not need to be told to hang on Aristo’s every word.
At Nubia’s urging, Flavia was once again lying on the padded bench of the carruca with her head in her friend’s lap. As Aristo began to tell the story of Romulus and Remus, Flavia closed her eyes and tried to picture it in her mind.
‘The night the Greeks burned Troy,’ began Aristo, ‘Aeneas escaped with his age
d father and his young son Ascanius. After many adventures, he and his small band of Trojans landed in Italia at the mouth of the Tiber.’
Flavia opened her eyes and looked up at Nubia. ‘In Ostia,’ she said.
Without taking her eyes from Aristo’s face, Nubia whispered, ‘I know.’
‘Aeneas vanquished the fierce warrior Turnus,’ said Aristo. ‘And he finally married the beautiful princess named Lavinia. Her father was called Latinus and Aeneas agreed to call his people “Latins” from then on, rather than “Trojans”. This pleased the goddess Juno, and she finally stopped tormenting Aeneas.’
‘Praise Juno,’ murmured Flavia, and she heard Tranquillus chuckle.
‘Aeneas and his princess lived happily, but now Aeneas’s son Ascanius had become a man, and he wanted to found a colony of his own. So he moved a dozen miles east, to a mountain ridge overlooking a beautiful lake on one side and the sea on the other. He called this place Alba Longa. After Aeneas died, Ascanius divided his time between Latium and Alba Longa. But he loved Alba Longa best, and it was there in the lakeside woods that his son Silvius was born.’
‘Silvius means “of the woods”,’ said Flavia without opening her eyes.
‘That’s right,’ said Aristo. ‘And from that time on most of the princes who ruled at Alba Longa bore the name Silvius. One of these was called Aventinus. He had a son who had two sons: Numitor and Amulius. Numitor was kind and wise, but Amulius greedy and ambitious. They were rivals for the kingdom.’
‘Never a good idea,’ observed Hilario, ‘for a king to have two sons.’
Flavia opened her eyes and turned her head. ‘Could that be the clue? Maybe those two rival brothers point to Titus and Domitian!’
‘Perhaps,’ said Aristo. ‘But it’s very common for two sons to struggle for power. Apart from their desire to rule, Numitor and Amulius don’t bear much resemblance to Titus and Domitian. Numitor was the eldest, and should have ruled by right. But his younger brother Amulius drove him into exile and killed his sons. He also forced his brother’s daughter, Rhea Silvia, to become a Vestal Virgin, so that she would never marry or have children who might claim the throne. But one day Rhea Silvia went into the woods to get water. She was very beautiful. When Mars, the god of war, caught sight of her, he fell in love with her and lay with her. Nine months later she gave birth to twin boys, Romulus and Remus.’
‘Reate is named after Rhea Silvia,’ remarked Tranquillus.
‘What is Reate?’ asked Nubia.
‘The place we’re going,’ said Hilario. ‘It’s the nearest big town to Aquae Cutiliae, where the Flavians have their ancestral home.’
Flavia pushed herself up on one elbow. ‘Maybe that’s the clue! What happened to her? What happened to Rhea Silvia?’
‘She was put in chains and thrown into prison by Amulius,’ said Aristo. ‘We don’t know much more about her, do we?’ He looked at Hilario.
‘Some say she died in prison,’ said the paedagogus. ‘Others say her sons freed her when they overcame Amulius. I believe there is a temple dedicated to her in Reate,’ he added.
‘Then we’re on the right track,’ said Flavia. ‘But there must be another clue in the story.’ She rested her head back on Nubia’s lap and closed her eyes. ‘Tell us more, please, Aristo. Tell us about Romulus and Remus and the rape of the Sabine women.’
Nubia watched Aristo with parted lips. She loved his storytelling almost as much as she loved his music. She had once composed a song about him, called ‘The Storyteller.’
‘After wicked Amulius imprisoned Rhea Silvia,’ said Aristo, ‘he commanded that her twin babies be exposed. You know what “exposed” means, don’t you, Nubia?’
‘Yes. It means if you leave a tiny baby on a mountainside or riverbank and it dies, then it is the gods who are guilty, and not you.’
Aristo nodded. ‘Amulius’s servants placed the two babies in a rush basket and pushed it out into the river Tiber, which was swollen with winter floods. The basket finally came to rest near a fording place by seven hills. In those hills were caves, and in one of the caves was a she-wolf with her newborn cubs. When she went down to the river to drink that evening, she heard the babies crying and went to them. Maybe she mistook their whimpers for the cries of wolf cubs, or maybe her maternal love overcame her savagery. Whatever the reason, instead of devouring them, she suckled them. When they had fed, she took them carefully in her mouth, one at a time, and carried them back to her safe warm cave. There she continued to feed them, along with her own cubs.’
Nubia nodded. She had once seen a bronze sculpture of the baby boys sitting beneath the panting she-wolf and suckling from her teats.
Lupus turned and showed his wax tablet to Aristo. Nubia could see that he had written the word: mars.
‘That’s right, Lupus,’ said Aristo. ‘The wolf is sacred to Mars. That was another indication that the twin babies were his offspring. One day, an old shepherd heard babies crying in the cave of the she-wolf. He waited until she went down to the river to drink, then crept inside. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw two baby boys curled up with two wolf cubs in the warm den. He hesitated for only a moment, then put a twin under each arm and ran all the way home. He and his old wife had always longed for children, but never had any.’
‘The poor she-wolf,’ said Nubia. ‘She must be wondering where the babies went.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Aristo. ‘But the boys needed human contact by now. The shepherd and his wife were not rich in possessions, but they loved the twins and raised them as their own. The babies grew up to be strong and handsome young men.’
Nubia imagined Romulus and Remus looking just like Aristo, with his handsome face, curly hair and lean, muscular body.
‘They became brigands,’ said Aristo. ‘They used to rob the rich and share with their parents and other poor people. They soon had a gang of other wild youths. One day they came to the attention of old Numitor, the father of their mother Rhea Silvia. He realised they must be his grandsons, so he summoned them and told them that the crown was rightfully theirs. Backed by him, Romulus and Remus made war on wicked Amulius. Victorious, they decided to build a new capital city at the place where the she-wolf had suckled them, by the hill where their great great-grandfather Aventinus was buried.’
‘The Aventine Hill in Rome!’ said Flavia.
‘And they say,’ added Tranquillus, ‘that the she-wolf’s cave was on the Palatine Hill next door.’
Aristo continued. ‘The two brothers tried to rule together, but they could rarely agree. Finally they decided that one of them should rule, and the other step down. They would ask the gods to choose between them, by means of signs and portents. Romulus stood on the Palatine Hill, Remus took up position on the Aventine, and their followers waited in the valley below. They had not been waiting long, when a gasp went up. Six vultures were flying over the Aventine Hill, on the propitious side of Remus. What could be clearer than that? But look! Coming over the Palatine were twelve vultures, a phenomenon never seen until then. It was clear: Romulus was chosen by the gods.’
Aristo shook his head sadly. ‘But Remus did not accept defeat graciously. One day he taunted Romulus by stepping over the foundations of the new city’s wall. In a fit of rage, Romulus hit him with a hoe. Remus fell and struck his head and died. And so the city was called Rome, after Romulus.’
IF REMUS HAD BEEN CHOSEN, wrote Lupus on his tablet, ROME WOULD BE REME!
They all laughed and Aristo continued.
‘Romulus saw that Rome needed more people, so he made the city refuge for outlaws of all descriptions.’
‘Not just outlaws,’ interrupted Hilario. ‘But any men from the surrounding peoples – whether free, freedmen or slaves – who wanted a fresh start. And therein lay the foundation of the city’s strength.’
‘Of course,’ said Aristo graciously. ‘Not just outlaws, but any men who wanted to start fresh.’ He paused for emphasis. ‘Men being the key word. Early Rome was a city of m
en, desperately in need of women and offspring.’ Aristo looked at Hilario and said, ‘Owing to the scarcity of women, Rome’s greatness would not outlast one generation.’
It must have been a quote, thought Nubia, for Hilario acknowledged it with a grudging nod.
‘They were desperate times,’ said Aristo, ‘so Romulus sent ambassadors to the surrounding territories, seeking treaties and the right to intermarry.’
‘But all the leaders said no,’ laughed Tranquillus. ‘They didn’t want their daughters marrying a bunch of outlaws.’
Flavia opened her eyes and sat up. ‘I’ve rested enough and I want to hear this part,’ she said. ‘Lupus, you can come sit by us.’
Lupus clambered down from his perch beside Talpa and sat on the bench beside Flavia. The carruca rumbled steadily along the sunny road.
‘Romulus devised a plan,’ said Aristo. ‘He announced games and invited all the people who lived around Rome to attend. Many tribes accepted, especially the Sabines, the people from this region.’ Aristo gestured towards the olive groves on the hills and the vineyards in the valleys. ‘Entire families arrived in Rome and marvelled at the new city and enjoyed the hospitality of different houses. Then, on the day of the games they all went to watch the chariot race.’
‘At the Circus Maximus?’ asked Nubia.
‘At the place where it is now,’ said Aristo. ‘In the valley between the Palatine and Aventine Hills.’
Aristo leaned forward. ‘Imagine it. You’ve come with your family from your Sabine farm to the city of Rome. You are going to watch the games, starting with chariot races, something you have heard about but never seen. You sit on your father’s cloak on the grassy hillside with your family and wait for the horses to start racing. You love horses and you’re very happy and excited.’
Nubia gazed at him in delight. It was as if he was telling the story about her.
‘The trumpet sounds. The chariots burst out of the wooden gates. Suddenly a handsome young man runs up to you and pulls you to your feet. Your father and mother are startled. They smile hesitantly. Is this part of the celebration? Then the man swings you up into his arms, or even throws you over his shoulder, and now he’s running down the hill. You are bumping up and down in a strange man’s arms. You can smell his sweat and hear him pant for breath as he turns down a street. You hear the screams of other girls and only now do you realise what’s happening: you are being kidnapped!’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 260