The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Nubia and Flavia clutched each other while Lupus and Tranquillus laughed. Hilario rolled his eyes.

  ‘One very beautiful girl was carried off by three or four men, each holding one of her limbs. They took her to the house of a distinguished senator.’

  Lupus gave a mock scream and waved his legs and arms like an upturned turtle, pretending to be carried off by four young men.

  Aristo looked at Nubia. ‘But imagine this particular man wants you for himself and takes you to his house. You’re terrified, but instead of ravishing you, the young soldier shows you to a room decorated with frescoes of cupids driving little chariots pulled by goats; a girl’s room. There is a bed with an embroidered spread, and some pretty clothes laid out. There is a dressing table with everything a girl might want. There is even platter of fruit and bread. You realise he prepared it all for you.’

  Nubia watched Aristo, strangely moved.

  ‘That evening Romulus himself arrives and takes you to the inner garden. There sits the young man who kidnapped you. He has bathed and oiled himself. He no longer smells of sweat. He is quite handsome and a little nervous. You are thirteen and he is perhaps ten years older, say twenty-three.’ Aristo was looking at Nubia and there was something in his look that made her heart beat fast.

  ‘Romulus pronounces words over the two of you and declares that you are now legally married. He tells the man to be kind and gentle, to be a good husband, to provide for you and any children you might have. And he tells you that you do not have to share the man’s bed until you are ready.’

  Nubia felt her cheeks grow hot. She tipped her head down, so that the brim of her hat covered her face.

  Aristo continued. ‘You cry yourself to sleep for a few days, maybe even a week. But then you notice one or two of your friends are living nearby: other girls from the Sabine Hills. They have nice dresses and young husbands, too. But you think yours is the nicest. Sometimes you wonder where your father is. Why has he not come to rescue you?’

  Aristo spread his hands. ‘What you don’t realise is that your father was helpless: unarmed in a strange city. He and the other fathers and brothers had to go home to fetch their weapons. And by the time the Sabine men have finally screwed up their courage to attack, a whole year has passed and you have just given birth to a baby girl and you love her more than anything in the whole world.’

  Nubia and Flavia glanced at each other and giggled.

  ‘One beautiful spring morning you are having breakfast with your husband and baby when the alarm sounds: a trumpet. Your husband puts on his armour and swings himself up onto his horse. He rides to battle and you run outside to watch. You see your husband riding down the hill with the other young Romans, so brave and handsome. Then you see your father, and the other Sabine men coming down the opposite hill. Your father looks older than you remember him, and a little frightened: he’s holding a spear instead of vine-pruning-shears.’

  Nubia stared at Aristo, enthralled.

  ‘And now you realise that you love them both and don’t want either of them to die. Suddenly you are running down the hill, holding your baby girl high above your head and crying out for them to stop. Your girlfriends follow, some of them hold their babies up, too, others move more slowly, because they’re pregnant. You cry out for them to stop fighting and suddenly find yourself between two charging bodies of men. They rein in their horses or stop running and stare at you in amazement. You realise you have just done something very foolish but very brave. Your courage brings about a truce, so that everybody becomes friends and you,’ he concluded, ‘have become a Mater Sabina, a Sabine mother.’

  Flavia clapped her hands. ‘Euge! Aristo!’ she cried. ‘I love the way you told that. As if Nubia and I were young Sabine girls.’

  Nubia nodded her agreement. She didn’t trust her voice.

  ‘Only one problem,’ sighed Flavia. ‘You told it so well that I forgot to listen for clues.’

  They reached Reate late in the afternoon and stopped to lay an offering of fruit on the altar of Rhea Silvia outside her little pink and cream marble temple. Flavia prayed hard to the deified mother of Romulus and Remus, but she did not find any clues or see any graffiti. The young priestess did tell them how the imperial litter-bearers had hurried Titus through Reate, the sweat pouring off them. And she told how the townspeople had grieved after learning of the emperor’s death. Titus had been well loved and they counted him as one of them, a fellow-Sabine. She then cocked her head to one side and asked why two young boys were bringing offerings to Rhea Silvia.

  ‘She came to me in a dream,’ lied Flavia, ‘and healed me of a fever.’

  Back at the carruca, Aristo and Tranquillus confirmed reports of Titus’s litter-bearers coming through at a run, and the sound of Titus groaning within.

  ‘So he was still alive when he reached his villa,’ said Aristo. ‘But he died that night. Look, Nubia.’ Aristo held out a papyrus twist of dates. ‘Your favourite.’

  Aristo had also bought some grapes and nuts, and they shared these as the buttercup-yellow carruca rumbled on towards Titus’s Villa five miles further on, at Aquae Cutiliae.

  Flavia pulled her coarse woollen cloak around her shoulders. Up here in the mountains it was cooler. To the north, heavy grey clouds were already obscuring the tallest peaks and threatening to spill into the valley between.

  ‘Aristo,’ said Nubia, as they drove, ‘please tell us more about Romulus?’

  ‘There’s not much more to tell. As you know, he was the first of Rome’s seven kings. After him, Rome was ruled by Numa Pompilius. He was a Sabine, just, wise and peace-loving—’

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ cried Flavia. ‘The fever must have made me stupid.’

  They looked at her expectantly.

  ‘The meaning of the riddle is obvious! Romulus and Remus do stand for Titus and Domitian, and by saying “beware Remus”, Jonathan is warning us to beware of Domitian. And who succeeded Romulus? Numa Pompilius, a Sabine. Sabine equals Sabinus! Jonathan is telling us to be careful of Domitian, and to make sure Flavius Sabinus becomes emperor instead.’

  Tranquillus raised an eyebrow. ‘If you think a two-word graffito means all that, then you still are feverish.’

  Nubia frowned. ‘No, Flavia. I think that cannot be.’

  ‘Why not? Isn’t the handwriting Jonathan’s?’

  ‘Yes. But Jonathan does not know we are in Italia. He thinks we are still in Ephesus. Remember, he told us to stay there and not to follow him?’

  Tranquillus looked at Flavia. ‘He told you to wait in Ephesus?’

  Nubia, Lupus and Aristo all nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘But we wanted to help him.’

  Hilario looked down his nose at her. ‘So you disregarded his wishes.’

  ‘He’s my friend,’ explained Flavia. ‘Not my master.’

  Hilario tutted. ‘I doubt you’d ever be obedient to any man.’

  Flavia opened her mouth to say something, but Tranquillus touched her arm lightly. ‘While you were ill, Flavia,’ he said, ‘Hilario remembered how Odysseus died.’

  ‘You did?’ said Flavia, forgetting her anger.

  ‘Yes’ said Hilario smugly. ‘Even Aristo didn’t know.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Aristo generously.

  And Tranquillus said, ‘Go on. Tell her, Hilario.’

  The paedagogus pretended not to hear and whistled a tune.

  ‘Please, Hilario?’ said Flavia. ‘Please tell me?’

  ‘Very well,’ he said and stared at her with his slightly protruding eyes. ‘According to one account, Odysseus was killed by a spear dipped in stingray venom.’

  A pretty frown creased Nubia’s forehead. ‘What is stingray?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes’ said Flavia. ‘What is a stingray?’

  ‘The Greek word is trygon,’ said Hilario. ‘It’s a kind of fish. It’s flat and round, like a platter, not a wheel. At the back of its tail is a spine with venom on it.’

  ‘It h
as a sting in its tail?’ said Aristo.

  Lupus nodded enthusiastically and drew one on his wax tablet.

  ‘Eeew!’ cried Flavia, when he showed it to her.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Hilario, pointing at the drawing. ‘It’s shaped more like a lozenge than a circle. When I was growing up,’ he added, ‘a friend of mine was stung in the arm.’

  ‘Did he die?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘No. He recovered. But he was very ill for many days with fever and nausea. The venom in the tail is the most powerful poison known to man, like a jellyfish, but worse. Pliny writes of it in his Natural History.’

  ‘Like a jellyfish sting?’ said Flavia, remembering something that had happened the previous summer.

  ‘But worse.’

  ‘Of course!’ cried Flavia. ‘Hilario, you’re wonderful!’ She leaned forward and gave the rubber-faced paedagogus a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Flavia!’ cried Tranquillus. ‘Why are you kissing my paedagogus?’

  ‘He just gave me the final tessera of the mosaic,’ said Flavia. ‘I know how Titus was murdered!’

  Nubia watched Flavia, full of admiration. How did she do it? How did she solve mysteries and puzzles so easily? Flavia’s grey eyes shone and she was almost beautiful as she explained her theory:

  ‘I think someone killed Titus using the same method used to kill Odysseus.’

  ‘With a poison-tipped spear?’ said Tranquillus. ‘Don’t you think somebody might have noticed? Especially Titus!’

  ‘Not a big spear. A tiny spear with a needle-sharp tip, whose prick you’d barely feel.’

  Suddenly Nubia knew the answer. ‘A stylus!’ she cried. ‘Like the one I saw in latrines.’

  ‘Not like the one. The very one itself. And I pricked my finger on it!’ cried Flavia. ‘Great Juno’s beard. I’ve just realised: that’s why I got the fever.’

  Lupus was opening his belt pouch.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Tranquillus.

  Aristo said. ‘Are you saying that Titus was murdered with a venom-tipped stylus in the latrines?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Flavia.

  Lupus held up a stylus.

  ‘Behold!’ cried Nubia. ‘The stylus from the latrines at the Inn of Romulus!’

  ‘Is that where you found it, Lupus?’ asked Aristo.

  Lupus nodded happily.

  Aristo grinned and shook his head. ‘You are such a magpie.’

  But Flavia gasped: ‘Be careful, Lupus! There may still be venom on the tip. That’s how I got the fever.’

  Lupus swallowed hard and stared at the stylus with wide eyes.

  ‘May I see it?’ said Hilario, and cautiously took the needle-sharp stylus from Lupus.

  ‘Would a little drop of venom on a stylus be enough to kill a man?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Flavia. ‘But only if you treated the fever in the wrong way.’

  ‘What do you mean: the wrong way?’ Hilario carefully passed the stylus to Aristo.

  ‘Did you know the treatment for a jellyfish sting is scalding water? But if you gave the victim the exact opposite treatment, it could finish them off.’

  ‘And the opposite treatment to scalding water,’ cried Aristo, ‘is very cold water.’

  ‘Or ice!’ said Tranquillus. He was gazing at Flavia with open admiration.

  ‘And you think that’s what happened to Titus?’ Aristo passed the stylus to Tranquillus.

  Lupus nodded and pointed at his right calf.

  ‘Yes, Lupus,’ said Flavia. And to the others: ‘Remember the serving girl at the Inn of Romulus?’

  ‘I do,’ said Hilario.

  Flavia ignored him. ‘She told us Titus was bitten on the calf by a spider when he went to the latrines.’

  Tranquillus pointed at her. ‘That’s when they got him!’

  Nubia frowned. ‘But who was it? Who got Titus?’

  ‘Someone lying in wait.’

  OR SITTING IN WAIT wrote Lupus with a grin.

  ‘But who?’ persisted Nubia.

  Flavia shook her head. ‘That I don’t know. But what I do know is this. If we get a chance to examine Titus’s body, we should look for a tiny red mark on one of his calves, the part beneath the hem of the tunic and above the top of his sandal.’

  Lupus took the stylus from Tranquillus and wrapped it carefully in the piece of papyrus which had held the dates. Then he put it back in his belt pouch.

  Aristo pointed as the carruca rounded a bend. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead. That must be it.’

  Flavia stood up to get a better look. Tranquillus stood, too. Before them was a green hill reflected by a small mirror-smooth lake at its foot. Half way up the hill, Flavia could see a red brick wall and part of a colonnade peeping through the beech trees.

  ‘Is that Titus’s Sabine Villa?’

  ‘According to the directions the fruit-seller gave me,’ said Aristo. ‘A brick and marble villa on a hillside overlooking a lake.’

  ‘Excellent!’ said Flavia. ‘Now we’ll get a chance to see the body up close and test my theory.’

  *

  Half an hour later, Nubia and the others watched Aristo question two guards at the entrance to Titus’s Sabine Villa. It was late afternoon. They had driven up to the arched gate of the villa and it had been decided that Aristo – in his equestrian tunic – should question the guards. Nubia and the others were standing beside the carruca on the green wooded hillside. Small clouds swept across the sky so that sometimes they were in shadow and at others in sunshine. Now, as Aristo turned to walk back to them, the sinking sun came out from behind a cloud. It illuminated the trees, and made the soldiers’ metal breastplates flash, and painted Aristo with its golden light.

  Watching him, Nubia understood how the ancient Greeks could believe the gods of Olympus sometimes walked among them. Even tired and dusty he was divinely beautiful. The familiar knife of love twisted in her heart and she had to look away.

  ‘You won’t believe this,’ he said, as he came up to them. ‘Titus’s body is on its way back to Rome.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Tranquillus.

  ‘The funeral carriage set out yesterday,’ said Aristo. ‘It must have passed us on the road. Titus’s body should be on view in the forum by now.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ wailed Flavia. ‘This is my fault. Because of my fever we missed him. And it’s too late to go back to Rome today.’

  Aristo glanced back towards the two soldiers flanking the gate. The sun went behind a cloud and their breastplates stopped gleaming. Nubia could see the cloud’s shadow sweeping up the hillside.

  ‘The guards did give me two very interesting pieces of information,’ said Aristo. ‘They told me Titus’s last words: I only regret one thing.’

  ‘What could that mean?’ said Tranquillus.

  ‘They had no idea,’ said Aristo.

  ‘What was the second piece of information?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘The litter-bearers didn’t bring Titus here first. They took him to straight to the frigidarium of the baths down at the bottom of the hill, and put him in the cold plunge. That’s where he died. That’s where he uttered his last words.’

  ‘He died at a bath-house?’ said Flavia. ‘Is it nearby?’

  Aristo nodded. ‘We passed it earlier, just before you reach Lake Paternus. The locals call it the Baths of Vespasian. Hot springs, cold springs, there’s even an inn nearby.’ He looked around at them. ‘Titus’s death is the biggest news in these hills since his father died here just over two years ago. I suspect that everyone will be talking about it at the baths.’

  ‘Good idea!’ cried Flavia.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Aristo. He beckoned the two girls closer and leaned in, so that Nubia could smell the honey-sweet scent of dates on his breath. Her head was spinning but she forced herself to concentrate. ‘The only problem,’ whispered Aristo, ‘is that the baths are only open to women in the evenings. So I suggest that just for tonight, you two become girls again.’

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nbsp; Nubia hated many aspects of Roman life: slavery, crucifixion, animal sacrifice. But she loved going to the baths. That night after dinner at the Paternus Inn, she and Flavia joined a dozen other women entering the luxurious Baths of Vespasian. The entry fee of a bronze as would buy them a marble niche for their clothes, a massage with scented oil, and a warm towel afterwards. The two friends undressed, leaving on only their headscarves to hide their short hair. Nubia found a pair of wooden clogs her size and clumped after Flavia into the caldarium. Torches burned in wall brackets and the smoke mixed with the steam to make the air thick and warm. Beneath the lofty marble dome was a large hexagonal platform of polished marble; each of the six sides was long enough for a person to lie there and be massaged. At the moment, every place was taken. But one of the smiling masseuses gestured for them to take a seat on a marble bench and wait their turn.

  This bench ran around the marble-faced walls, punctuated every few feet with shell-shaped basins. Nubia clomped carefully after Flavia, admiring a dark blue mosaic floor which showed every type of sea creature. Nubia sat on the warm, slippery marble bench and looked into one of the shell basins. It was filled with steaming hot water and there was a dolphin tap which could be turned on to let in more. A scallop-shaped scoop made of tin floated on the surface. Nubia filled the scoop with water and tipped it over her head. The water was almost too hot to bear and she gasped.

  ‘The water in my shell is cold,’ said Flavia, scooping some water from her shell-basin. She tasted it. ‘But delicious.’ She held out her tin scoop and Nubia took a sip. The water was icy cold, with a clean metallic taste. ‘No wonder this area is famous,’ said Flavia. ‘Hot springs and cold.’

  Nubia was watching three young women on a nearby bench. They were mixing the water in wooden buckets and sluicing themselves. She saw one take a bucket from underneath the bench and bent forward to look underneath theirs.