The Spook Who Spoke Again: A Flavia Albia Short Story Read online

  The menagerie would be closed that day. I offered to do dung-sweeping but Lysias said Sizon would do it today. That would teach him to drink himself into a stupor at the feast. Hesper wasn’t being much use. He was moping. Someone had given him a big black eye. I whispered to Sizon was it Pedo? To which he answered no, Pedo couldn’t hit a fly if it landed on his nose; the gorgeous Pollia whacked him.

  Since nothing was happening there, I went to the Circus. I had asked Hesper if he would give me money for another fig pastry as my reward for keeping his secret. He said, no he bloody wouldn’t since it wasn’t a secret now, was it? He continued that if he found out what vicious bastard had snitched to Pedo, he would string them up and disembowel them with a rusty knife, extremely slowly. I was glad it was Moschion who snitched. I assured Hesper that it wasn’t me, so he snarled to get out of it. That was when I went to the Circus of Gaius and Nero, so as not to annoy Hesper any more.

  The cake-seller wasn’t outside anyway. Instead, I found a public slave, the one who was supposed to sweep up, lock up and look after the torches. He liked to do anything that wasn’t work so he showed me his little equipment hut, where he kept his broom and had his lunch when anybody gave him any. I apologised for not being able to share a pastry with him.

  The hut also contained the torches, with their pitch and the flint for lighting them. Remembering that the aedile Manlius Faustus had asked my help in a wedding, I asked if I might borrow one of the torches. I wanted to practise carrying it, as if I was in charge at the wedding procession. The slave said as I was so nice to him, of course I could.

  The torch was large and quite heavy. I was glad I had conducted this experiment, because now I could advise Faustus to supply lighter ones. I did it well, but the snivelly little cousins and nephews he had mentioned would not be able to manage.

  I took the torch with me into the Circus. There I saw Pollia, who had as big a black eye as Hesper’s. None of the acrobats were practising, so I went up to another young lady, the one called Silvia, who was sitting cross-legged against the barrier around the track. She looked rather gloomy. She said it was because Thalia had forbidden them to perform today.

  ‘Oh why is that, Silvia?’

  ‘Too dangerous when participants are having an enormous fight. You cannot risk dangerous throws when your life is in other people’s hands. There has to be complete trust. At the moment someone is likely get dropped – on purpose.’

  Silvia pointed out Pollia’s eye, so I mentioned that Hesper had one the same, which Pollia had given him. Silvia snorted. She said it was Hesper who bopped Pollia, though no one knew who hit out first. Pedo, Pollia’s husband, was sporting two black eyes, one each from Hesper and Pollia. That would teach him to weigh in while his wife was disagreeing with her lover. What had it got to do with him anyway?

  The little woman Sassia was limping, but she had refused to say how or why that happened. Silvia herself looked unscathed. I asked if that was because she led a moral life, and she replied, no it was because she knew how to hide what she was up to.

  ‘Will the quarrel be sorted out, Silvia?’

  ‘Better be. If not, our group will have to break up. Everyone will lose their job. Then Thalia will be short of acts and will have to sell her animals. She won’t get work – and so it goes on.’

  I said I was sorry to hear that, then I left her so I could march about to do more practice with my torch.

  Thalia called me over. She asked how I was after the upsets yesterday evening. She had been sent a message that my father, Falco, would be coming to the Circus later to watch a rehearsal of his play, The Spook Who Spoke. Afterwards he would take me home with him to dinner, because I was supposed to go every week according to Helena’s conditions and tonight they had the aedile Manlius Faustus coming.

  ‘Why does he need to see the play if he wrote it?’

  ‘Re-writes. Plays are all about re-writes. To see if he can twiddle with the script to make improvements. Don’t tell him the best improvement would be to start all over with a decent new play. I remember he’s very touchy about it … Helena has written me a note “Tell Postumus little dumplings”. What’s that about?’

  ‘Yum! My favourite dish.’ I was not surprised, since if Helena Justina knew I was coming to dinner she was bound to order this for me specially.

  Thalia gave me a look as if she thought I might be criticising her as a mother, because she did not know my favourite. It is scrumptious roast chicken served with very little parsley dumplings floating in the juice. Well, I would have told her if she had asked me.

  ‘Now then,’ said Thalia then, in a tone of voice with which I am familiar. She seemed to have had second thoughts about me being tucked up in my bed all last night. I prepared for a talking too. ‘Can you assure me, Postumus, you were never in the Circus yesterday evening? You did not wear the ghost costume, or loose the dogs, or set fire to the straw? How did you feel about Soterichus dying in our tent like that?’

  Albia says you should ask one question at a time, otherwise your suspect will only answer the easiest, where they can safely tell the truth. Nobody can have explained that to Thalia.

  ‘I was sad about Soterichus being constricted by Jason,’ I answered perfectly honestly.

  ‘Well, you know it’s a horrible way to die.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ The man had looked more puzzled than horrified. He seemed too bleary to understand what was going on. ‘But I didn’t want any harm to befall him. I was upset because it was important to have a discussion with him. I had been told he came from Egypt, which has a connection with me being born, so I specially wanted to ask him if he was my father.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ exploded Thalia. ‘Only if he was a magician – I didn’t know him until five years ago. Anyway he came from Memphis, not Alexandria, which I can assure you was your place of conception. Mind you, it was on a ship I first met that filthy rogue Geminus so we can call you a sea-baby. Juno, you are a strange little tyke, Postumus!’

  Oh good, she was so surprised she forgot her other questions. That saved me having to own up or to be a bad boy who tells lies. Helena and Falco have a rule that I must always tell the truth, which I have solemnly promised to obey, but that is in their house so it might not apply when I was with another mother. Thalia had not thought up any rules for me. If I stayed long, she might get around to it.

  The only other thing that happened that morning was that Thalia got in a bate because no members of the public had paid to come inside the Circus. Apparently the usual thing was that after sightseers went to the menagerie they were offered cheap tickets to watch a rehearsal as well. Lysias, who was attending to Roar, told her that now visitors had to pay my new price for the menagerie they wouldn’t part with any more money afterwards.

  Thalia and Lysias stood with their arms folded, looking across the track at where I was. They didn’t say anything to me, so I just continued to practise my walking in a torchlight procession.

  I had some thoughts there on my own. I was considering this Circus that Nero had completed for chariot races. Afterwards I had been told it was convenient for the crucifixion of many Christians who had confessed to causing a great fire that nearly burned down Rome. This shows that you should never take confessions on trust because it is perfectly possible Nero started that fire himself to clear land to build his Golden House, or that it was simply an accident.

  Confessions can be beaten out of people. That was a fact worth remembering. I had not forgotten my investigation into the python’s crime. Sometimes you must pretend to be busy doing something quite different, to lull your quarry into a sense of false security. Any boy knows how to pretend to be playing happily, while he is planning to do something else.

  15

  Lunch was on the hoof, which only meant flatbreads in the hand and carry on with what you were doing.

  Since the acrobats were barred from performing, they just huddled by the racetrack so I went to sit with them. Hesper came slinking up to
Pollia.

  ‘Don’t come whining around me, Hesper. You have ruined my marriage!’

  ‘You ruined your own marriage!’ snarled Hesper, trying to stop the others hearing, especially Pedo, Pollia’s husband. He was watching with a faint sneer. ‘I thought you were true but you ruined my life!’

  ‘Get lost, waste of space.’

  ‘Oh shut up, the lot of you!’ shrieked Sassia, the tiny woman. Everyone looked shocked. Questioning looks were passed between them. Sassia jumped up and strode off by herself, aiming a kick at Hesper as she passed him. I had no idea what that was for, though the others looked as if they had just twigged something.

  The play rehearsal was starting, so I left them and went to sit with the actors. I looked around for Falco but I could not see him. That made me worried, in case nobody came to fetch me for dinner that evening.

  The Young Hero was to play Moschion, the Prince of Chersonesos Kimbrike.

  ‘Wherever in Hades that is,’ muttered Chrysis, who was elegantly lolling in a seat alongside me. I tried not to look at the wart on her face, for I know that is rude.

  ‘Chersonesos Kimbrike is in the far, far north,’ I informed her. ‘We have a Map of the World on a wall at our house, so I have learned all the places.’

  ‘How clever you are! Plays always have to have exotic settings, Postumus. You couldn’t set a comedy in Italy or Greece, it’s too familiar.’

  I didn’t recognise the Young Hero at first because he was wearing a black wig to show he was youthful and virile (even though dim and cowardly).

  First Davos came on as the old father, in a long white gown with a staff. A short prologue explained to us that he was sailing off to Sicily.

  ‘Why is he going there?’ I whispered to Chrysis.

  ‘Absolutely no bloody idea, pet.’

  ‘To get him out of the way so he can come back,’ explained Davos, as he came off stage – which was actually off track, of course, since we were at the Circus of Gaius and Nero, not at a proper theatre.

  Davos plumped himself down, holding a copy of the play, so he could wrote notes on it. He seemed to get bored with that quickly so he gave me the scroll to help me follow. It was not much help.

  The play continued like this:

  Mother: Stay with us, Moschion, my son. Do not go to Germania Libera!

  Pause. Even longer pause

  Davos: rushes back on stage

  Bloody hell, I’d already left for Sicily … No, wife, he shall go to Britain.

  Mother: Why, they are all mad in Britannia, and painted blue.

  Father: Then nobody will notice that Moschion is mad too. He shall be escorted by our loyal slaves, clever Congrio and wily Bucco.

  Mother: Then take good care of him for us, wily Congrio and clever Bucco.

  Moschion, Prince of Chersonesos Kimbrike, then did not go anywhere, though his father did. Perhaps Moschion had stayed at home because he was supposedly going away to be educated at a university, even though he was clearly too dim. Besides he was busy pursuing the Beautiful Virgin so he had no time for study. There are no universities in Germania Libera, it is all huge forest.

  Word then came that after two days at sea a warlike pirate sailed up and set upon Moschion’s father and killed him. I felt sad for Moschion.

  Congrio, the thin old clown, was to appear next and tell jokes to cheer us up. I had seen him already on the sidelines, huddled with someone wearing the ghost’s costume. The ghost seemed to be telling him a new joke, which they were busy writing down. Congrio was clutching a large scroll that Chrysis told me was his joke book. If anyone tried to borrow or steal it, Congrio would kick off in an apoplectic fury. Sometimes if they ever found it unattended people moved it for a game, though they never moved it very far, nor owned up who did it. That was very funny.

  Presumably because he had no time to learn the new joke, Congrio brought the scroll on stage with him and read it out. First he explained what had happened to the old man, Moschion’s father, who had ended up missing at sea. I said it to you in one sentence, but Congrio spouted on endlessly. If this was meant to be amusing, I failed to see why. Facts should be told in a plain way and get on with it. Then he did his joke.

  Congrio: Three intellectuals went into a bar.

  Bucco: aside Jupiter, who writes this stuff? You just can’t get the poets nowadays.

  Congrio: When the waiter came to greet them with offers of refreshment, the Platonist decided that since the three parts of the soul are Wisdom, Courage and Temperance, he would wisely ask for bread to line his stomach, bravely try a high priced wine, but restrain himself to a half flagon.The Aristotelian disagreed. He thought the perfect form of the human soul is reason, separated from all connection with the body. So he would try to get extremely drunk on anything the waiter brought him, until his body had no idea where it was and his mind lost all capacity to reason.

  The Cynic claimed the highest good is to spurn every kind of enjoyment, so he would order the terrible housewine then not even drink it. The kindly waiter took pity on him, offering to supply the primal substance identified by Thales of Miletus – which is water.

  Bucco: This is tedious. Get on before we all pass out!

  Congrio: The waiter brought their order, then the three intellectuals spent a pleasant afternoon at the bar, engaged in discourse of the finest kind, each one drinking according to his personal philosophy. Eventually it was time to leave. The waiter had been keeping a careful eye on them, for he had met intellectuals before. He jumped in to present their bills, pointing out that in the spirit of Pythagorus, the world is perfect harmony depending on number, and the most perfect number would be the price of their drinks plus a large tip for him.The Aristotelian at once replied that the aim of human activity is happiness, for which material goods are unnecessary – so he had left his purse at home.

  The Platonist responded with a smile that the waiter would not lose by this, for Wisdom, Courage and Temperance are united by Justice, so he would cover his friend’s bill as well as his own.

  The Cynic wasn’t there by then. Needing to relieve himself of much primal substance, he guessed it was time to pay the bill and since cynics are shameless, he went out to the lavatory, dived down the alley and never came back.

  Bucco: The Spook claims this rubbish is not what he wrote. Let those who are to play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.

  Congrio’s joke had caused a lot of winces among the audience. They were making restless movements.

  Congrio: The other intellectuals thought the punchline needed more work. But the waiter said, what can you expect? Falco wrote it.

  I had had enough of drama, so I slipped away quietly, taking my torch for more practice. It had gone out, so I went outside the Circus gates to the little hut. The public slave was asleep but he woke up and said since I was using the torch so much, I ought to have the bucket of pitch. He showed me how to dip the torch and replenish it so it would go on burning.

  I spent some time by myself, marching, then I was bored. The torch was still burning well since I had used a lot of pitch on it. I had no way to douse the flame. Since I am a sensible boy, I did go and look at the cage where Roar was kept, because I thought he would have a bucket of water in which I could plunge the flaming torch with a huge fiery hiss, but the half-grown lion must have been thirsty that morning and had drunk it. I left the torch and the pitch container safely outside his straw-carpeted cage. I leaned the burning torch against the stonework of the spina where it could do no damage

  Roar wasn’t in his cage. Thalia had taken him out earlier, hoping once more to entice him onto the tightrope, though he kept refusing. He was still over by the equipment, fastened with a rope on his leg, looking lonely. I went to speak to him. He was lying with his paws together, looking around with a sinister, snooty expression. It looked safe to go up and stroke him but I decided not to. He began chewing at the rope on his leg. I would have mentioned it to Thalia but she was too far away. Nobody else
was nearby because they had all gone to stand around laughing at the play.

  When I myself returned to watch more rehearsal, the action had moved on. I could not tell easily what was happening or why.

  Chrysis: Methinks I saw your father by the port.

  Moschion: Beautiful and virtuous Virgin, how can this be, for he is lost at sea, murdered most foully by a warlike pirate. Alas poor ghost!

  Chrysis: No ghost. Not dead.

  Moschion: amazed Not dead?

  Enter Father

  Moschion: amazed again Father! Not dead! Mother, here is my father. Seasick, I think, coming from Sicily.

  Mother: amazed Oh Moschion, speak no more, for I believed him dead and I am married!

  Pollia: off stage More fool you then!

  Father: amazed Wife! Married?

  Mother: Husband!

  Chrysis: Help, ho; she faints!

  Moschion: Mother, mother, mother.

  Father: Attend your mother.

  Moschion: Father, father, father.

  Enter Spook

  Chrysis: Here’s one who can explain all this. Speak, speak, Spook, speak to me!

  The Spook was a good character. I liked him very much. I think the actor enjoyed playing him. He loped onstage in a wild manner, swaying from one side to the other, waving his sheeted arms and swooping. Even when asked, he did not speak. His not speaking was the scariest thing about him.

  That was when new things happened, which interrupted the rehearsal. Over by the acrobats’ equipment, Roar must have gnawed through the rope holding him. He stood up to stretch his legs, then decided to go to his own cage where he felt comfortable and he might find a piece of bloody meat left over from his breakfast. He couldn’t get into the cage though. With a grunt, he jumped on top, which people noticed, then when they began shouting, he came off again with a grand flying leap. He was a rather clumsy lion. The half-grown beast landed on the bucket of pitch, which fell over onto a spare bale of straw, where all the contents rolled out. Roar took one sniff then sprang back. His next mistake was to knock into the torch even though he could see I had left it standing upright to be safe. He pushed the torch over too with one curious paw, so it landed in the overflowing pitch. That started a big whoosh of fire.