Three men stood on the other side of the vine curtain. She could only see their silhouettes but she could tell that two of them were soldiers and that the man in between wore a caftan. It was the traitor who had betrayed them: Ascletario.
*
It was an hour past midday. Golden Helios beamed down on silvery-green olive trees and a sparkling blue lake, as if nothing bad could ever happen. But Flavia knew that Helios was wrong: she and her friends were Domitian’s prisoners, and Jonathan was still chained to a sluice gate in the damp mouth of the Emissario.
They were being escorted north along the lakeside road, in the direction Tranquillus and Hilario had gone. One guard led the way, one took up the rear, and Ascletario walked beside Flavia.
‘Why?’ she turned her head to look at the Egyptian. ‘Why did you betray us?’
‘I am sorry, sorry, sorry,’said Ascletario. ‘But your friend Jonathan was acting suspiciously and the emperor believes that you also are plotting against him.’
Flavia had no answer for that. Ascletario was right. They had been plotting against the emperor.
‘I told you to go, but you would not listen,’ added the Egyptian under his breath.
Flavia secretly scanned the trees on the left, looking for Tranquillus or his tutor. Had they lingered? Or were they already back in the buttercup-yellow carruca, on their way to his aunt’s villa across the lake? She thought she saw movement up on the hillside among some oaks, but it was only a sow and her piglets rooting for acorns.
‘You should not be defying Caesar Domitian,’ murmured Ascletario.
‘How can you serve a murderer?’ hissed Flavia. ‘He killed Titus.’
‘Please do not call my master a murderer,’ said Ascletario. ‘If you say that again I will take you back to the Emissario and chain you beside your friend. Domitian did not kill his brother. It was Titus’s time to die.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that his death was from the gods. His horoscope proves it.’
‘Where are you taking us?’ said Flavia suddenly. ‘Isn’t Domitian’s palace up there?’ She looked back over her shoulder at the wooded ridge high above them.
‘I am taking you there,’ said Ascletario.
Flavia saw a harbour up ahead, with opulent barges and other colourful pleasure craft moored there. But Ascletario was not looking at the harbour. He was pointing to the mouth of a vast cave, partially screened by ancient oaks and shrubs. ‘The nymphaeum, nymphaeum, nymphaeum,’ he announced.
Two guards stood on either side of the arched opening in the steep hillside. They both saluted Ascletario as he led his prisoners inside.
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ gasped Flavia as they entered a vast, cool space. Directly before them was a large sculpture showing Odysseus and his men about to put out the eye of the sleeping Cyclops. In the dim, green light the painted marble figures seemed almost real. To the right, statues gazed out from rectangular niches in the wall, to the left a smaller cave held another sculptural group. What lay at the back of the cave, Flavia could not tell. But she could hear water splashing and the eerie sound of a flute, both sounds magnified by some strange acoustic quirk of the cavern. The space reminded her of the great octagonal room of Nero’s Golden House, only much more mysterious.
A plump bald eunuch in a long black shift stepped forward.
‘This way,’ he said in a soft voice, and led them to the left. The smaller cave contained a sculpture of a terrifying sea-monster with seven snarling heads: Scylla. A hidden light well illuminated a small niche with a bench.
The bald eunuch took some long black shifts from the bench. ‘Put these on,’ he said. ‘They go over your own clothes.’
The tunics were made of black silk. They all had to put one on, even Ascletario. Flavia looked at her friends and made the sign against evil. Dressed all in black, they seemed like the spirits of the dead. Lupus’s oversized tunic reached almost to the floor, making him appear small and pale and vulnerable.
The eunuch beckoned them out past the snarling marble Scylla and back into the vast cavern. There he bowed to Ascletario and gestured with his right arm, as if to say: please proceed. Ascletario led the way deeper in. As they passed the sculptural group in the centre of the cave, Flavia glanced at it. The hairy Cyclops Polyphemus was shown fast asleep on his back, unaware that he was about to be horribly blinded. Flavia shuddered and averted her eyes. Why had Domitian brought them here? What did he intend to do?
As they moved past the sculpture of the doomed Cyclops, Flavia saw two more dark arches sunk into the very back of the cave, on a slightly higher level. A cascade of running water poured out of the arch on the left: no doubt a natural spring.
The arch on the right was covered with a heavy black curtain.
The flute music must have come from behind that curtain. It had stopped now but as Flavia followed Ascletario up some steps, she thought she could hear someone reciting. She couldn’t make out the words, but she caught the distinctive rhythm of dactylic hexameter. The muffled voice – deep and patrician – made her think of Flaccus, though she knew it couldn’t be him.
When they reached the upper level, Asceltario hesitated for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and pulled back the black curtain to reveal the innermost room.
It took a moment for Flavia to register what she was seeing before her: a completely black triclinium. Dimly lit by a few bronze oil-lamps, it had black walls, a black floor and a black vaulted ceiling. The coverings on the three low couches were black and all seven diners were dressed in black, too. The emperor, reclining alone on the central couch, wore a black synthesis and a garland of dark green leaves. And the muscular young poet who had stopped reciting to look over his shoulder at them wore black, too.
It was Gaius Valerius Flaccus.
Flavia almost cried out Floppy’s name, but stopped herself just in time. She mustn’t let on that she knew him. He had obviously come here in order to rescue them. So why did he look so astonished to see her? And how had he managed to get an invitation?
Ascletario was addressing Domitian: ‘Your Excellency, you told me to bring the children and their tutor if they tried to rescue their friend . . .’
‘I did indeed,’ said Domitian. He patted the couch beside him. ‘Come, Nubia of the Colosseum. Recline beside me. You others may sit on the floor at our feet.’ And to Flaccus he said, ‘Please continue.’
‘I’m sorry, Caesar,’ said Flaccus. ‘I can’t remember where I was.’
‘You were reciting a passage from your new epic, a passage about the underworld, as I requested.’ Domitian was talking to Flaccus but looking at Nubia. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘we are dining in honour of Hades.’
‘Oh. Yes,’ stammered Flaccus. He resumed his recital: ‘The palace of Tartarus lies deep beneath us, cut off from the concerns of man and from the toppling sky . . .’
Flavia heard Ascletario hiss: ‘Go, Nubia! Recline beside Caesar. The rest of you: sit on the floor, the floor, the floor.’ And she felt him give her a little shove from behind.
*
As if in a nightmare, Nubia slowly walked into the terrifying black room to join Domitian on the central couch. She glanced over her shoulder at her friends. They were lowering themselves to the black marble floor, at the foot of one of the couches furthest from the Emperor.
‘Twin doors lead to the darkness below,’ Flaccus was saying. ‘The first lies open to kings and commoners alike.’
Nubia saw that Domitian was patting a spot on the couch in front of him and slightly to his right. Reluctantly, she climbed up and stretched out on her left side. He was behind her now, so at least she didn’t have to look at him.
‘The other gate to Hades is barred, it only opens to the warrior who has died bravely in battle . . .’
Nubia realised she was trembling. Hades was the god of the underworld. And this seemed like the underworld. Would she ever see sunshine again? Was Domitian planning to kill them all? She stifled a gasp
as Domitian laid his hand on her upper arm and she heard the couch creak as he leant forward. ‘Thank you for joining me, Nubia.’ His breath was hot in her ear.
‘. . . this other gate only opens to the woman who has given her life for others, or the children who have conquered fear . . .’
Flaccus seemed to put a slight emphasis on this last phrase and she shot him a grateful look.
‘. . . or the priest whose conscience is as spotless as his robe.’
Domitian’s hand came away from her shoulder, as if he had been burnt. Nubia remembered that the emperor was also the pontifex maximus – the high priest – and that Flaccus had just taken up a position as some kind of priest, too.
‘Torch in hand, Mercury guides the righteous forward until they reach a path that gleams with its own divine light. This path leads to woods and meadows full of eternal sunshine, where they will dance and sing for ever.’
Flaccus was looking at Nubia and she wondered if he was speaking about her paradise. A flicker of movement pulled her attention away from the young poet. Lupus was sitting beside Aristo, making his thumbs-up sign, trying to tell her it would be all right, and Aristo was giving her an encouraging smile, too.
Nubia tried to smile back.
‘Thank you, Valerius Flaccus,’ came Domitian’s voice from behind her. ‘You may be seated.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Pueri! Boys! Bring in the oysters!’
There was a smatter of polite applause as Flaccus went back to his couch. He climbed up and reclined between a fat man and a man with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.
A moment later, the heavy curtain was pulled back and three beautiful serving boys with shoulder-length black hair came into the room. They wore short, sleeveless black tunics and they carried bronze tripods, one for each of the couches.
Nubia saw that the bronze bowl of each tripod was filled with crushed ice. On the ice lay oysters, prawns and lobster claws.
Nubia started as the emperor clasped her shoulder again.
‘Pass me an oyster, would you, my dear?’
Nubia reached out a trembling hand and picked up one of the oysters on its half-shell and brought it up to him. He took it with his right hand, the one which had been clasping her shoulder, and he held the oyster before her face.
‘Open your mouth,’ he said, pulling her gently back with his forearm. ‘Open your mouth and tip back your head.’
In this strange embrace, Nubia had no choice but to obey. She tipped back her head until it touched his chest. Then she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. The sharp edge of the shell scraped against her bottom teeth and then the cold, slimy oyster filled her mouth. It tasted of seawater and she tried not to gag as she choked it down.
‘Was that good?’ He tossed away the shell, and it clattered onto the marble floor.
Nubia’s eyes were watering but she nodded bravely.
‘Excellent. Now give me one.’
Nubia leaned forward and picked up another oyster from the bed of ice. She turned to see Domitian looking at her, heavy-lidded and with parted lips. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
For a heartbeat she considered how easy it would be to slash his detestable throat with the razor-sharp edge of the oyster shell.
But she did not have the courage, so she brought the shell carefully to the imperial mouth and tipped out its contents and watched him swallow it down.
‘Mmmm.’ He licked his lips. ‘Montanus,’ he said, opening his eyes to look at the fat man on Flaccus’s couch. ‘They say you can tell the provenance of an oyster with one bite. Imagine your life depended on it. Where would you say these oysters came from?’
The fat man began to choke so Flaccus slapped him on the back. When the man had recovered, he stared at Domitian with horror-stricken eyes.
‘Come, Montanus,’ said Domitian. ‘Don’t be modest. Are they from the Lucrine Lake, perhaps? Or from the sea-beds of Massilia?’
The fat man reached out a trembling hand and took an oyster and brought it to his mouth and tipped it down. He chewed for a moment, swallowed hard and gazed at the emperor imploringly.
‘Go on,’ chuckled Domitian. ‘Try one more.’
With a queasy smile, Montanus dropped the empty shell onto the floor and took another oyster from its bed of ice. His three chins wobbled as he chewed. Some oyster juice dribbled down his chin and he mopped it with his napkin. He mopped his perspiring forehead, too.
‘I think,’ stammered Montanus, ‘that is, I believe . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Are the oysters from Rutupiae in the far province of Britannia?’
There was a terrible pause and then Domitian clapped his hands. ‘Euge!’ he cried. ‘Well done, Montanus. You are a true epicure.’
Nubia realised she had been holding her breath. She let it out as quietly as she could, aware that her whole body was trembling again.
‘Now,’ came Domitian’s voice from behind her, ‘while we finish off these delicious oysters, who else would like to recite something on the theme of Hades?’
There was another deathly pause, then a small voice said. ‘I will.’
Nubia gasped.
The small voice had been Flavia’s.
How in the world could her friend find the courage to speak up in a company of Rome’s most powerful men, in this terrifying place? Nubia closed her eyes and prayed again. ‘Please Lord, give her the words to say . . .’
Flavia’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst. Her mouth was dry and her palms were damp. But she knew this was her only chance. The Emperor would not dare refuse her request in front of all these men. If he did, he would look foolish.
Domitian raised an eyebrow in surprise, then beckoned her to rise. ‘The person standing before us,’he proclaimed, ‘may look like a boy, but it’s really a girl in disguise. Or perhaps it’s a trained monkey.’
There was nervous laughter in the black triclinium.
‘I don’t usually allow trained monkeys to perform in public, but I think this might amuse you all. Proceed!’ he said to Flavia. ‘Recite something about death.’
Flavia glanced at Flaccus. His head was down; he was examining an oyster. A stab of anguish was replaced by a surge of hot anger. Could he not even give her one look of encouragement? Her anger gave her courage. She lifted her chin and turned to Domitian.
She would paraphrase some lines of Ovid she had once memorized for Aristo: the passage where Orpheus asks Pluto to give him back his wife Eurydice. Flavia took a deep breath.
‘I do not come down here, O Deity of Darkness, to see the gloomy realms of Tartarus or to chain up three-headed Cerberus, but because of my wife,’ Flavia paused and corrected herself: ‘Because of my friend. I was convinced by Love, a god well known in the world above. I cannot say if he is known down here, but I suspect that even you, O Pluto, have been touched by Love.’
‘Well spoken, Little Monkey,’ said Domitian. ‘For that I decree that you shall be reunited with the friend you were seeking. Guards!’ he cried, and clapped his hands. When two guards appeared in the doorway a moment later, he said: ‘Take the children and their tutor back to the Emissario. They can join their Jewish friend.’ He put a hand on Nubia’s shoulder. ‘But not this one. This dusky beauty can stay with me.’
‘No!’ Nubia heard Aristo cry. ‘I won’t let you touch her again!’ He had scrambled to his feet and he was rushing towards Domitian.
But the man with the ponytail had leaped off his couch and now he tackled Aristo. For a moment the two grappled on the black floor among discarded oyster shells. One of the bronze tripods clattered to the floor. Two guards rushed in and pulled out their swords.
‘No! Aristo!’ cried Nubia, and she began to get off the couch. But Domitian caught her and pulled her roughly back into his arms.
Nubia gasped as one of the guards struck Aristo’s face with the butt of his gladius. ‘Aristo!’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t fight them. They’ll hurt you.’
Ari
sto raised his head. His mouth was bleeding and his eyes were dazed. ‘Nubia,’ he said. ‘Nubia, I love you.’
‘Ha!’ cried Domitian, squeezing Nubia tight in his excitement. ‘This is better than anything I had planned.’
The other guard began to kick Aristo.
‘Stop!’ Domitian laughed. ‘Don’t harm him! Take him to the theatre. This is too good an opportunity to miss.’
The guards nodded and manhandled Aristo out of the black triclinium.
Nubia heard the smile in Domitian’s voice. ‘I was just about to put on a little gladiatorial show and a beast-fight,’ he announced to the astonished diners, ‘and I hope you will all attend.’ Then Nubia felt his breath hot in her ear as he whispered. ‘Especially you, my dear. Your handsome Greek lover is going to be the main attraction.’
‘Oh, Jonathan!’ said Flavia as she finished telling him what had just happened. ‘This is the worst situation we’ve ever been in.’
Jonathan looked at her from his swollen eyes and gave a single nod. He was wheezing from his asthma.
Two guards had used vines to tie Flavia and Lupus to the other side of his sluice gate. Outside, the sun had passed its zenith and the dark shadow of the mountain combined with the overhanging oak and the screen of vine tendrils made the light in the vault a gloomy green.
‘And Nubia is alone with Domitian. Oh, I can’t bear to think about it. Oh, Jonathan, Lupus, what are we going to do?’
Lupus nodded down towards his waist. He was still wearing his long black tunic and his hands were tied behind his back, just below hers.
‘What? What do you want? Oh! Our belt-pouches are underneath the black tunics. The guards didn’t see them!’
Lupus nodded excitedly.
‘You want something from your belt pouch?’
Lupus grunted yes.
‘Your wax tablet?’
Lupus grunted no.
‘The needle-sharp stylus?’
Lupus shook his head.
‘You have to move a little,’ said Flavia. ‘That’s right . . . So I can roll the outer tunic . . . up enough.’ After several attempts Flavia got her fingers under the tunic and found his belt. ‘Suck in your stomach,’ she grunted, ‘so I can pull the belt around . . . and there! I think I can open it . . .’ She closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to undo the tie. ‘Opened it!’ she grunted at last, and then felt inside: ‘An oyster shell. Lupus, you’re brilliant! You took one from off the floor! And it’s–ow! It’s razor-sharp! I don’t think I can do it. My fingers are getting numb.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 266