The Spook Who Spoke Again: A Flavia Albia Short Story (5 page)

Hermes ignored the important person; he insisted on interrupting, telling Thalia how he had brought me along to be cheered up. As soon as the important man heard me mentioned, he started across to where I was standing on the track (because we had come in through the main gate at ground level). When I recognised him, I immediately said hello nicely, without being told to. Thalia rushed up too, muttering to me not to bother a magistrate.

He said, smiling, that it was all right. ‘Postumus and I are old friends.’ It was Manlius Faustus, the aedile I had seen a few times with my eldest sister, Flavia Albia. She is an informer and knows all types of people, even disreputable ones.

Thalia looked amazed, then seized on the connection eagerly. She said I should sit with my friend Faustus while the company performed for him, because he was reviewing their acts as one of his official duties, seeing if any were good enough for the Roman Games next month. ‘You can help him decide to have us!’ she said to me, winking heavily.

Albia had told me this Faustus was a man who never said much, but when he walked into a room, he had better find you doing something he approved of. I knew for myself that he had a strict attitude. He once told me off, for being out in the streets on my own at night, because I needed to observe the proceedings of the Festival of Ceres on the Aventine. Albia said he meant it for my protection, then she told me off too.

Last month he saved my sister’s life when she was very ill, so all her family had to be grateful to him. I was prepared to take the lead and schmooze him, as my father calls it. I was the family representative.

Faustus and I walked up steps and found ourselves seats from which to watch the acts. While we waited for them to start, he said in a friendly tone, ‘I am glad to see you, Postumus. I need to ask you a favour, if you don’t mind.’

I replied, ask away then.

‘Flavia Albia is bringing me to dinner at your house. Your parents have invited me, to meet everyone.’

I was surprised because Albia didn’t want us all to inspect Faustus and ask him nosy questions. Albia thought Father would stomp about complaining about her new boyfriend, which he usually did, so when Father dropped hints about how it was high time he met this Faustus, she just looked as if she was very busy thinking about something else and she did not answer him. She was good at that. I had studied how she did it, so I could follow her method.

‘Naturally I am apprehensive,’ said Faustus. ‘Since you and I already know one another, I hope you will be there to give me kind support.’

I promised I would, adding that we were all intrigued, since we had thought my sister would never find anybody to suit her because of her difficult standards. ‘There are bets that you will run away when you find out what she’s really like. My other sisters are saying, “Albia is such a terror; even if he is wonderful, she will soon throw him out”.’

Manlius Faustus winced. ‘Is it inevitable?’

‘No, we think she likes you.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t worry, we have ordered her to be nice to you. By the way, on behalf of our family, Manlius Faustus, thank you very much for rescuing Albia when she was having the squits and dying on the floor.’ My mother, Helena Justina, thought somebody ought to say this and get it done soon, or he would think we had no manners. And Helena said it wasn’t enough for Father to take him for a drink, to which Father replied obediently, all right it could be a drink with three kinds of olives in nicknackeroony bowls.

‘Your mother wrote to me very touchingly,’ Faustus told me.

That was when I felt I should explain to him my state of having two mothers, one of whom was Thalia. She was at that moment winding Jason around her body and preparing to show off her famous snake dance, which Falco called an eye-watering cultural experience. I believe Faustus had already heard all about my situation, probably from Albia, because he wanted to discuss whether I was happy here with the entertainers. Albia must have told him to check up.

He confided to me that he had lost his own mother when he was young and had missed her badly ever since. So I was lucky to have two. Then he said, I should probably view Helena Justina more favourably. Not only had she brought me up from a baby, but she was the best choice for a boy who might go far in life. Helena was a senator’s daughter which could be an advantage.

I agreed with that, but said I had thought coming here would be a useful experience. Fair enough, replied Faustus. Enjoy it for the time being. He seemed a reasonable man, for a friend of Albia’s.

I explained about having to go home once a week for dinner, so we could make it the same day as he had to go; he said that would work neatly. ‘There is something else I could ask you to do, Postumus, if you were interested.’ I said again to ask away. ‘I may be organising a wedding soon.’

‘Is that another job an aedile has to do, sir?’

‘No, this would be a family occasion. If it happens, I shall need a sensible boy to be the chief torch bearer, in the procession afterwards. It is quite a responsibility,’ said Faustus, looking sideways at me. ‘Apart from the religious aspects, the other boys who hold the torches – you know it’s obligatory to have the groom’s snivelly little nephews and the bride’s horrible cousins – they all have to be supervised carefully, in case they set fire to anything.’

I liked the sound of that. I mean supervising horrible little cousins. I don’t mean setting fire to stuff. If you burn someone’s house down, they can sue you for compensation. This had been explained to me. Several times, actually.

‘So it will be the real works with all the nuts, including relatives?’ I had heard Helena Justina describe weddings in that way.

‘Yes. A big public show.’

So lots of people would see me with the torch. Excellent!

Then we ended our chat, because Manlius Faustus had to evaluate the acts that Thalia was announcing. I wanted to take a good look at the performers, just in case one of these had gone to Thalia’s tent yesterday and seen something, or even stolen my ferret. This rehearsal turned out to be a good chance for me not only to be on good terms with my sister’s important new friend, supposing he managed to last with her, but also to size up suspects.

Even though they had known that the aedile was coming to watch them, the performers took a long time to sort themselves out. While we waited, Faustus said the demonstration was for the Roman Games, which take two weeks in September. They are the oldest, most famous Games in the calendar and this year it was his task to organise them. Of course he needed to do that well, to obtain a fine reputation afterwards. I thought it might be good to be an aedile myself one day, as I am sure I could organise people, though I might find it all a worry.

When Faustus reminded me what happens, I remembered going to the Ludi Romani with my parents on past occasions. There is a good procession of chariots, which then do races, and horsemen, and also drama. Thalia wanted to be in the theatrical events. She now showed Faustus her snake dance. I had never seen anything like it. From his face, neither had he. Thalia and Jason swayed together while the python wound himself around her in curious ways, though he was so heavy she could hardly support him slithering. I wondered how she had thought up this dance? And however she trained Jason to take part? asked Faustus, sharing my amazement.

Flutes were played at the same time. Other musicians then played tibias, drums and lyres to which acrobats tumbled, walked tightropes while twirling batons and parasols, and juggled with a large variety of things. First a few people at a time, then slowly everyone joined in.

Manlius Faustus sat still, watching. He showed no sign of whether he liked anything, just sometimes wrote notes on a waxed tablet. All the performers were watching him to see what he thought, but nobody could tell. His slave Dromo had brought along a whole bag of tablets for him; when I asked to borrow one, Faustus gave me one at once, making sure it was nice and waxy, and also a stylus like his own. I tried to see what he was writing but he used shorthand symbols that I didn’t know.

I wanted to make a list of all the performers but there were too many. They moved around so much I lost track of them, which was annoying. Sorting out my suspects would be hard.

I saw Pollia being thrown in the air and caught by two men, so one must be her husband, but which? They were called Laurus and Pedo. Pollia could stand on her hands and bend entirely backwards until she grabbed her own ankles. Then they picked her up and threw her between them again, while she remained in the form of a joined hoop. And they rolled her along.

Another very beautiful young lady called Silvia came skipping up to them, doing a cartwheel as she arrived, then she and Pollia were both tossed to and fro for a time, before they climbed onto the men, with a small woman called Sassia bounding up to jump on top as well until they made a pyramid of bodies. Then someone flipped some coloured balls up to Sassia, which she juggled, only dropping one; a golden crown was thrown up to her too, which she caught right on her head.

They all jumped down. They landed lightly, pointing their feet elegantly. This time, Faustus applauded, so I did too, assuming it was etiquette. I saw Thalia mutter something to Sassia, after which she came to us and put the crown on the aedile’s head with a fancy gesture. He allowed her to do it, though I thought it was really not correct to involve him like that. He politely wore the crown during the next act, then took it off again and placed it on the free seat on his other side from me.

We watched more performances. I had lost track of the people’s names. While we sat, I found myself thinking about Ferret. That saddened me. I wished I had him down my tunic now. He would have enjoyed looking out at the performances, twitching his whiskers. I could have talked to him about it.

When there was a pause while equipment was wheeled in for a balancing act, Faustus asked me quietly why I was feeling unhappy. He may have thought it was being with Thalia instead of at home. I hoped he would not tell my parents since I had no wish to cause trouble in their minds. So that he would understand, I decided to tell him what had happened to Ferret. He listened in the same way he had watched the acts, still not speaking. He seemed a thoughtful person. This is very unusual.

The next time we were waiting for something to happen, I asked whether, being a magistrate, Faustus could help me investigate. He replied rather regretfully that his remit didn’t really cover that, because apart from organising public festivals it was more about patrolling markets and bath houses. Rome has a lot of those. Some are disreputable. And brothels, I suggested, since I had heard my two younger sisters giggling over it when they were discussing our Albia’s new friend.

‘Unfortunately, yes; brothels,’ agreed Faustus in a solemn tone. Clearly he was a man of duty. I knew these were rare so I was pleased to have met one.

The next thing that happened was that a new group of people arrived. Thalia loudly greeted them. They were actors. Their leader was called Davos. Thalia had only announced the names of the other performers when it was their turn, but she brought Davos right over and introduced him. His troupe was here to show Faustus their acting in the hope he would accept them for a play at the Roman Games.

‘I’ve known this fellow for years,’ Thalia said in a glowing voice. ‘You will find him the best – and I’m not just saying that because he happens to be my husband!’

That made me jump. Davos was a solid man with straight grey hair. If he and Thalia were married, surely that made him my father? Another? This was rather complicated. I took a good look at him, finding him preferable to the animal-seller, Soterichus. But when he noticed me staring he gave me a strange look, not friendly.

In other respects, Davos seemed at ease. He tossed the golden crown at someone standing on the track, then sat himself down right alongside Faustus. He began explaining their play, a comedy which he said he had just dug out of their chest of scrolls in honour of my father, Falco that is, who once wrote it. He writes things but we try to avoid having them read out to us because we think they are terrible.

Faustus said that he was a new friend of Falco’s daughter, Flavia Albia, so he (Faustus) hoped he (Falco) would be pleased if his play was accepted for performance. ‘I’m being judged – Don’t get me into trouble here!’

‘He’s a mad bugger,’ answered Davos, as if this was a compliment. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be thrilled we haven’t dumped his piece of nonsense on a midden-heap.’ That sounded as if disposing of the play might have been a possibility.

‘Make your pitch then.’ I noticed Faustus gave such orders in an easy way; he was comfortable with his importance and people seemed to take it well. I would like to be like that. He listened patiently while Davos confessed that the scrolls had become rather jumbled up since the last performance; in fact, he said with a chortle, to be honest
The Spook Who Spoke
(which was the play’s strange title) had always seemed jumbled even in performance. Mind you, that was in the Palmyra desert, which explained a lot. The night had ended in a riot, though he assured Faustus that had nothing to do with Falco’s play’s noble lines or vibrant theatricality. If Faustus liked the sound of it, the actors could unscramble the scrolls in a twinkle. Something could be made of it.

I wondered if we would see a riot here in Rome?

Davos began describing the play. He had a deep, powerful voice that was lovely to listen to, even though his conversation was crude. ‘You get the usual comedy banalities. Innocent, slightly dim adolescent is passionately in love with a gorgeous girl in a brothel –’ I glanced at Faustus who smiled at me. ‘I can’t remember offhand whether loverboy’s dad is a soft touch or a scheming miser, but he’s lost at sea, until he turns up alive and well. The mother’s a harridan in a fright wig. Always gets laughs. A ghost pops up to put the mockers on everything, everyone pairs off and we have a sing-song with a folk dance to send the audience home in good spirits.’