‘I think it probably means he likes shiny things,’ said Jonathan.
Soso unclenched his hand and the ring fell into Jonathan’s palm. He quickly put it on. Soso regarded him gravely from clear grey eyes.
‘Will his eyes stay that colour?’ Jonathan asked his mother.
‘Yes. He’s ten months old now; his eyes will always be that colour. He has his father’s eyes and his mother’s black hair,’ she added.
‘I hope he doesn’t have her curly hair,’ said Jonathan.
Soso smiled and gurgled up at him.
‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said Jonathan softly, ‘If you have curly girly hair all the boys will beat you up. Trust me.’
Soso gripped Jonathan’s finger with his tiny hand.
‘He seems happy.’
‘He is much loved. But I think he misses his brother.’
‘I’ll try to find Popo. When I’m better.’
‘I know you will, my son.’
‘Mother, are you sure you won’t come with us to Ephesus? It’s a huge villa with over two dozen bedrooms and its own swimming pool and bath complex. And gardens.’
‘No. I will stay here in case your father returns.’
‘But he killed Titus.’
‘I do not believe he could have done such a thing. He was never that kind of man.’
‘Jonathan?’ They both turned to see Flavia standing in the doorway.
‘Is it time to go?’ he asked.
‘Not quite. But there’s someone here to see you. To see us. It’s Titus’s doctor, Ben Aruva. And he says he has something very important to tell us.’
Ben Aruva was sitting in the triclinium. There were floor cushions rather than couches and a single hexagonal table in the centre. Delilah was putting small bowls of delicacies on this table: green almonds, pistachio nuts, dates, dried figs and mulberries. Jonathan knew that the two small pitchers contained wine and vinegar, and that the big jug was for water.
The doctor got up as Jonathan entered the room.
‘Peace be with you,’ said Jonathan.
‘And with you,’ said Ben Aruva, with a small bow. ‘How are your wounds?’
‘Sore, but they’ll heal.’
‘Please, sit,’ said Hephzibah. ‘Wine or posca?’
‘Wine, please,’ said the doctor, sitting cross-legged. ‘Well watered.’
Jonathan sat on a cushion near the door, with his back to the bright garden courtyard. His mother sat on one side of him and Flavia on the other. Nubia was sitting next to Aristo, holding Soso in her arms and smiling down at him. Lupus squatted on his haunches near Ben Aruva, watching the young doctor with wary eyes.
‘I’ve come to share some extraordinary news,’ said Ben Aruva. ‘After you left the Alban Citadel, I convinced Domitian to perform an autopsy on Titus.’
‘An autopsy?’ said Flavia.
‘Yes. A test done on a body to determine the cause of death. When I studied in Alexandria I watched many and performed a few myself.’
‘Isn’t that unusual here in Rome?’ said Aristo.
‘Almost unheard of. But I convinced Domitian. I told him we had heard some incredible conjectures about how Titus died but that there was only one way to be sure. Domitian agreed, almost at once. He had his men bring the body to a well-lit room in one of the towers and he summoned a handful of Rome’s most respectable men, including two priests.’
Ben Aruva looked at Flavia. ‘I began by examining the body for marks on the legs or lower arms. Marks that might have been made by a poisoned needle or stylus. I found nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing. No mark at all, apart from a few mosquito bites. And they look quite different from a puncture by a man-made implement.’
Jonathan and Flavia exchanged a puzzled glance.
‘Next I cut him open and carefully examined his internal organs. One of the men present was an augur, used to examining the innards of bulls and sheep. He agreed that Titus’s organs were in perfect condition.’ Ben Aruva took a small sip of his well-watered wine and replaced the cup on the table. ‘Finally, I split open his head.’
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia. ‘How horrible.’
Ben Aruva ignored her. ‘And there we finally found something. In his brain.’
‘What?’ said Jonathan.
‘It looked like a mosquito, but it was the size of a sparrow.’
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia and Nubia together, but Susannah looked puzzled. ‘What did you find?’ she asked Ben Aruva in Aramaic.
‘Yattush,’ he replied, in the same language. ‘A mosquito or gnat. But it was this big.’ He indicated its length with finger and thumb.
‘Dear Lord,’ murmured Aristo.
‘How did it get there?’ asked Jonathan.
‘I have two theories,’ said Ben Aruva. ‘As I’m sure you know, many rabbis say that after Titus destroyed Jerusalem and our Holy Temple, the Lord – blessed be he – cursed Titus. Perhaps he sent a mosquito up Titus’s nose to plague him, and it lived in his brain for ten years, tormenting him with headaches and depression until it finally killed him.’
Jonathan and his friends stared at Ben Aruva. Even Flavia was speechless.
The doctor took another small sip of his wine. ‘As you might imagine, Domitian was not pleased with this particular theory. So I offered him another. Several years ago I saw an autopsy being performed in Alexandria. My teachers were trying to determine the cause of death of a woman who had suffered headaches so terrible that she took her own life. They found something like a crab in her brain. Only it was not a crab, it was just fleshy matter. One of our teachers – a very wise and experienced physician – said he had seen other such growths from time to time. He called such growths “tumours” because they often caused parts of the body to swell. He said that people affected by blindness, madness and depression often were found to have tumours in their brains.’
Jonathan stared at him. He had heard of tumours in the belly or breast, but never in the brain.
‘What causes them?’ asked Aristo.
Ben Aruva gave a small shrug. ‘We don’t really know,’ he said. ‘A tumour is an illness. Like a boil on the skin, or a bunion on the toe. Sometimes they are harmless, sometimes they are deadly.’
‘And they can cause depression, madness and headaches?’ asked Flavia.
‘According to my wisest teacher. Yes.’
Jonathan felt sick as he realised what Ben Aruva was saying. ‘Are you telling us that Titus wasn’t murdered?’
‘That is exactly what I am telling you.’
Flavia and Jonathan looked at each other.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Flavia. ‘We had proof.’
‘What proof?’
‘Well, first of all,’ she said, ‘there was the prophecy given by Apollonius of Tyana, that Titus would die at the hand of someone close to him.’
‘No. Apollonius merely told Titus to beware of those close to him.’
‘All right,’ Flavia stuttered. ‘But when Titus asked by what means he would die, Apollonius said that death would come to him from the sea. Like Odysseus, from the sea.’
‘Perhaps it did. Perhaps he merely caught a chill from the sea air.’
‘But he was in the Sabine Hills, fifty miles from the sea.’
‘Four days before he died, he spent the afternoon in Portus. The sea breeze was quite stiff that day. I know. I was with him.’
‘But Odysseus was killed by the spine of a stingray, a trygon,’ persisted Flavia.
‘According to one account of several. You know how fluid myths can be. Besides, none of this is proof.’
Jonathan looked at him. ‘There was no mark on his calf?’
‘Just a few mosquito bites.’ Ben Aruva pointed at Flavia’s leg. ‘Like that one.’
‘But what about the needle sharp stylus in the latrine? I pricked myself on it and the venom nearly killed me. I came down with a fever an hour after I touched it.’
‘Coincidence
, or another cause. The bite of a mosquito can cause fever, you know. Your whole theory was no more than that,’ said Ben Aruva. ‘An elaborate and complicated theory.’
Flavia and Jonathan exchanged another look. She was very pale.
‘Titus had something in his brain?’ said Jonathan’s mother in Hebrew, as if she had only now grasped the fact. ‘Something the size of a sparrow?’
‘Yes,’ replied Ben Aruva in Hebrew.
‘And it could have been the cause of his headaches and his depression?’
‘Yes.’
‘So my husband didn’t murder him? Mordecai is innocent?’
‘I do not believe Titus was murdered,’ said Ben Aruva in Hebrew, and then repeated it in Latin: ‘Titus was not murdered. He died of a mosquito in the brain, which means his killer was either God or fate, depending on your beliefs.’ Ben Aruva looked into his wine glass. ‘If anyone is to blame, it is me. I insisted on the ice treatment, which helped him so much in the past. But he hadn’t long to live, in any case. Such a tumour . . .’ Ben Aruva looked up at Susannah. ‘Your husband is innocent.’
‘Then it wasn’t father I saw,’ said Jonathan slowly. ‘It was all my imagination. Master of the Universe, what have I done?’ He looked at Flavia. ‘What have we done?’
*
‘What have we done?’ repeated Jonathan, looking at Flavia. ‘Between the two of us we convinced everyone that father killed Titus.’
‘Don’t worry about your father,’ Ben Aruva said to Jonathan. ‘Domitian has called off the hunt. He realises your father is not to blame. But he is still angry with you.’ Ben Aruva was looking at Jonathan. ‘Because of you, he panicked and rode back to Rome and was not with his brother when he died.’
Jonathan hung his head. He felt sick.
‘I was Titus’s doctor,’ continued Ben Aruva. ‘And I do not know Domitian well. But I believe he loved his brother. Yes, he was bitter and jealous. Yes, he occasionally conspired against him. But I do not believe that he would ever have killed him.’
Ben Aruva stood up, so everyone else did, too. ‘And now I must go back to Rome and prepare Titus’s body for the funeral tomorrow. The citizens of Rome would be horrified to know that a Jew cut open the deified Titus. I have to make it look as if nothing has happened.’
‘Then Domitian isn’t going to tell people how Titus really died?’ said Aristo.
‘No,’ said Ben Aruva with a sad smile.
‘But people will talk!’ cried Flavia. ‘They’ll jump to conclusions, just like we did.’
‘Yes,’ said Ben Aruva. ‘They probably will.’ He picked his way through the cushions to the doorway of the triclinium. Here he turned and faced them. The bright green garden was behind him so Jonathan could not see his expression clearly.
‘Power is a dangerous thing,’ said Ben Aruva in a quiet voice. ‘Any kind of power. If you have it, be careful to use it for good.’
‘Jonathan, do you realise what this means?’ said Flavia after Ben Aruva had gone.
He looked up at her and she saw that one of his eyes was almost swollen shut.
‘What?’
She hesitated, wondering if this last blow would be too much. But they were all looking at her, so she said, ‘Domitian never planned to kill his brother. The autopsy proves it. Why cut his brother open unless he really wanted to know the cause of his death? Unless he was really concerned? Don’t you see? We were completely wrong about Domitian.’
Jonathan nodded bleakly. ‘I thought I had a vision from God. My vision of Romulus and Remus. It seemed so real. Maybe I have a tumour, too,’ he said miserably.
Nubia sat up straight. ‘Maybe your vision was being from God,’ she said. ‘But maybe it was not concerning Domitian.’
‘She’s right,’ said Flavia. ‘Titus and Domitian weren’t twins. But all those other pairs you named were.’
‘I thought of them more as brothers who fought each other.’
‘Not Castor and Pollux,’ said Flavia. ‘They never fought because they had different skills and they alternated being mortal and immortal.
Lupus grunted and wrote on his wax tablet: POPO AND SOSO?
‘Yes!’ said Flavia. ‘Lupus is right! They’re twins and they’re related to you. Maybe your vision was telling you to save Popo, not Titus.’
Jonathan stared at her like a boxer who has received too many blows but is still swaying on his feet. ‘You mean I went through all this for nothing?’
‘Not nothing,’ said Aristo. ‘You came back to Italia to clear your names, and you’ve done that.’
‘But we’re exiles,’ said Flavia. ‘We have to leave Ostia, and we can never come home again.’
Flavia and her friends set out dejectedly for the Marina Harbour at the fifth hour after noon. They took the back streets to avoid being seen, but when they approached the Marina Gate, they found the road clogged with people.
Jonathan tightened his grip on Tigris’s leash.
‘What’s happening?’ Flavia asked the Old Woman of Ostia as they passed the Hydra Fountain for the last time.
‘You’ll see,’ said Lusca, and her one good eye twinkled.
As they passed through the marble arch of the Marina Gate they were met with a cheer.
People were lining the streets, as they did when a victorious gladiator emerged from the arena. Some were waving, others were clapping. One or two even held palm branches, the sign of victory.
‘Maybe a famous athlete is in town,’ said Jonathan.
‘Or charioteer?’ Nubia looked eagerly behind them, but the people were closing in.
Lupus looked around warily.
Then Flavia began to notice familiar faces in the crowd: Oleosus, the door slave at the Forum Baths, Brutus the butcher and Fabius the fuller. They were smiling and looking at her.
‘Flavia,’ said Nubia. ‘I think they have come here to see us.’
‘Great Juno’s beard,’ muttered Jonathan behind her. ‘You’re right.’
‘They shouldn’t be cheering us,’ said Flavia wretchedly. ‘We botched this whole investigation.’
‘I know,’ said Jonathan.
‘But you helped return many children to their families,’ said Aristo. ‘Like Porcius there. You brought him back from Rhodes.’
‘Behold!’ cried Nubia. ‘Porcius! And his sister Titia with Silvanus!’
‘Silvanus!’ Flavia rushed forward to greet the handsome youth. ‘The last time we saw you was on that island, when you went for water. We thought we’d never see you again.’
‘I made it home,’ he said. ‘Titia and I were married in July.’ The two of them smiled at each other.
‘Thank you, Flavia,’ said a shy voice. ‘May Fortuna bless you.’
Flavia turned to see Pandora, a poor freeborn girl whose gold coin she had once found. Behind Pandora stood Feles – the cat-faced cart-driver – and his girlfriend Huldah. Flavia also recognised the two litter-bearers who had once carried the sodden Admiral Pliny to their house. One of them had a little girl with him.
‘I never thanked you,’ said Turnip-nose, wiping away a tear, ‘for saving my daughter last year.’
‘Aristo! We love you,’ cried a group of teenage girls. ‘Don’t go!’
Flavia and Nubia exchanged wide-eyed grins of astonishment and Nubia slipped her arm through Aristo’s. He kissed the top of her head and all the girls groaned.
Floridius was there – a sacred chicken under each arm – and Cletus the town idiot with a small bunch of wild-flowers for the girls.
‘Thank you,’ he dribbled, presenting the bouquet upside-down to Flavia. ‘Thank you for helping us.’
‘Goodbye, Nubia!’ cried Mnason the beast-catcher. ‘Watch out for snakes!’
They were nearing the docks but the crowd was pressing closer than ever, so Flavia clutched Aristo’s other arm for protection. Glancing behind, she saw Jonathan’s Jewish relatives kissing him goodbye, their religious differences forgotten at this moment of parting.
�
��GIVE THEM AIR!’ bellowed Praeco, the town herald. ‘MAKE WAY, MAKE WAY!’
The crowd parted and there stood the Delphina, with passengers and crew standing astonished at the rail: Flavia’s father, Diana, Caudex and Alma. Scuto and Nipur put their heads over the rail, both panting happily. Tigris barked a greeting up at them. Bald Punicus and grey-haired Atticus were up in the rigging, trying to get a better view.
To the left of the gangplank stood a small group of half-naked beggar boys. Flavia saw that their leader was the tawny-haired beggar-boy called Threptus. He held a small palm branch. ‘Three cheers for Lupus!’ he cried, and rattled the branch. ‘Do you like the procession we arranged?’
On the other side of the gangplank stood Marcus Artorius Bato, one eyebrow raised above his pale ironic eyes.
‘Farewell, Flavia Gemina,’ he said and swept out one arm in the orator’s classic gesture of display. ‘You can see that you and your friends are well-loved and that you will be missed. I, on the other hand, will look forward to a period of calm.’ Then he smiled and leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Go with Hercules.’
Flavia was too astonished to reply, but now Bato was shaking Aristo’s hand and she was going up the gangplank. At the top she turned for a moment to look back at them. But because of her tears, the sea of smiling Ostian faces became one big blur.
The crowds had dispersed by the time the Cygnet pulled the Delphina far enough out to catch the offshore breeze. It wasn’t a strong wind, but Captain Geminus had decided to set sail anyway. Flavia and Nubia stood beside the dolphin stern ornament, with the three dogs panting beside them. Lupus and Aristo were helping on deck, Jonathan had gone down below to rest.
Diana came up to join them on the stern platform. ‘Your father told me to wait up here,’ she said, ‘while he and his men do whatever it is they do.’
‘It’s the safest place,’ said Flavia.
Diana smiled shyly at Flavia. ‘That was quite a farewell.’
‘I know,’ said Flavia. ‘We weren’t expecting that. But it was wonderful.’
‘Are you sad to be leaving Ostia?’
Flavia swallowed hard, too emotional to speak, but Nubia said: ‘Little bit, not so much.’ She ruffled the fur on top of Nipur’s head. ‘I am happy to be going back to Ephesus, to the children and to our friends who follow the Way.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 272