Graveyard of the Hesperides

XXII

Sometimes you have to back away and leave them with their anxiety for a time. Of course you then risk finding them hanging from a beam in a barn. That way they will never answer your questions.

Since we were in the barn-free city, I hardened my heart. I sent Julius Liberalis off, advising him to think about his responsibilities. Faustus said dourly that he would ask Macer if the Third Cohort had an empty cell. I played the kindly one, for once. Pretending to intercede with my brusque fiance, I told the landlord to go home, quickly. “You’re not under arrest yet. Come and see us when you are ready to talk.”

This established that he knew that we knew he did have something to say.

He left.

Still maintaining his austere persona, Tiberius Manlius now set off for the Aventine. With the manner of a particularly pompous consul, all he gave me was a nod, no kiss. I blew him one, exaggerating the gesture. Unless he softened up, his paint-supplier was in for a sharp meeting with snap decisions. I ran after them and called out to Dromo to make sure his master had a midday snack to relax him, because I didn’t want us ending up with myrtle when oyster shell would be a better foil for the oxblood features. The slave looked at me as if I were even crazier than normal; Tiberius kept walking but raised an arm in salute. Even though he had his back to me, I knew he was grinning.

I stood behind the counter of the Hesperides, watching them go, feeling intense. Once before, I had sent off a husband for an ordinary morning walk, then had him returned to me, dead before lunchtime. I would never entirely recover.

“Take care,” I whispered, though Tiberius could not hear me. It was a charm for myself. What’s the point of supposedly being a druid if you cannot chant magic to protect those who are dear to you? Take care, my love. Dromo, take care of him. Come back to me …

I stayed where I was for a time, thinking. Life is uncertain. Tragedy can strike unexpectedly. Five wives, if the victims were all married men, once lost their husbands forever in this bar. Five women somewhere must by now have accepted they were widows.

I turned around, looking back toward the courtyard while I imagined it previously. The workmen were out there now, reinstating the garden area; I was able to erase them mentally, taking myself back to that night ten years ago.

The garden was most likely where the trap was sprung. Outside in the street beside the marble-topped counter would have been too visible and too risky-the intended victims might break away and escape. Inside would muffle any noise, though shouts and screams were probably routine around here. Subduing five men would be a difficult prospect, even if the attackers could rely on surprise. The aim must have been to take them out fast, before they could react. Whoever planned the attack would have wanted to prevent a real fight ever starting. That would cause too much damage, damage that would be obvious to customers the next day-wounds on the attackers, breakages that would need to be replaced before the bar could operate.

The Garden of the Hesperides had opened as usual the following morning, that was clear from statements. Everything had looked fine. No one, no ordinary member of the public, had realized anything had happened there.

Five men disappeared, but it would seem that nobody ever came looking for them.

Strangers? Up from the country or, more likely, foreigners. Men who had never been here before? Or men who had been before, yet nobody at home, wherever that was, knew of their links to the Ten Traders district in Rome, let alone their connection to this specific bar.

Had it been too far to come looking, too expensive to make the journey, had any chance of finding out what had happened been too uncertain?

Alternatively, perhaps these men’s deaths had served as a warning. No one came searching because people were too scared of the same fate befalling them.

That seemed unlikely. Old Thales sounded like a social menace, but not particularly scary. If I thought someone like him had murdered five people I knew, I would not hesitate to wreak revenge.

Not everyone was like me. Just as well, you may say.

All right, if you were a peace-loving, timid type yourself, you could at least report the crime to the authorities. This was Rome, city of ancient justice. Well, it was Rome, city of interminable legal wrangling. You could hire a barrister to sue all Hades out of Thales. If you had the money, you could demand justice.

If not, you would have to make a complaint to the vigiles. That was not entirely pointless. The Third Cohort were shirkers, but for sudden disappearances and presumed killings, they might at least prepare a scroll so as not to be caught out if anything else happened later. Cover your backs, my uncle Lucius would say. Write up some notes, so you have notes to consult, notes to present if and when your case is raised again by busybodies.

Macer had apparently known nothing about a past crime until he came and saw the bodies. Possibly he had now gone back to his station house to hunt up old reports, though I wasn’t confident.

If the five men could afford to travel here, their associates at home probably had access to funds too, so ought to have been able to follow them. I reckoned the associates could not have known where to come.

And what of the woman? If it was Rufia, she had lived here. When trouble started, did she get in the way? Did one of the aggressors kill her accidentally? Or was she deliberately punished by someone for being too friendly with the victims? More likely, with one victim in particular? This was harsh, but it would by no means be the first time a jealous man had lashed out and murdered a woman on those grounds. Come to that, it wouldn’t be the first time a man had planned it in advance.

Why was her head removed, and what happened to it afterward?

I turned around so I was facing the street again. No one outside had spotted me. Everyone knew the bar was closed, and I was standing still beside a post that held up the roof. No one had any cause to look over this way. I was not noticed.

From there I could see across to the Romulus, now empty, and beyond it the Four Limpets. At the Limpets, I recognized Nipius and Natalis, leaning on the bar counter, not serving but apparently having a late breakfast themselves. At a table in the street were Artemisia and Orchivia, though they seemed to have finished eating. Artemisia was leaning forward on her elbows, yawning, Orchivia sprawled backward. Another woman stood on the edge of the pavement, talking to them. She looked less blowsy, definitely older.

I had the impression they knew her, though the relationship was muted. They appeared to listen as required, but were taking little notice. She spoke to them; they let her talk. I could not make out any response. Well, I knew they were a stroppy pair.

While I watched, the older woman glanced across the street. I was uncertain whether she noticed me. Three mules, all laden with heavy grain sacks, came to a halt between us while their drovers called at the Romulus; whether for delivery or for refreshments was unclear. The woman broke off her conversation and swiftly took herself off in the uphill direction, patting a mule on the rump as she passed. The Four Limpets was far enough away that if I had started after her, she would easily have lost me. Besides, the beasts were in my way. I let her go.

For some reason I felt that I had just seen Menendra, the woman the Dardanians had mentioned before, who once knew Rufia. If so, this Menendra had no desire to talk to me.