Graveyard of the Hesperides

XXVI

Sometimes when you are looking for someone, they come looking for you. This is generally bad news.

I had finished my juice and said friendly farewells to Lepida. Tiberius and I would be back for more breakfast another day. With no clear plan for taking things forward, I had wandered back toward the Garden of the Hesperides. I reached the bar, but hesitated, because there was no reason for me to go in. I could hear our workmen inside, talking in low voices, chipping with spades. From where I stood I could not actually see them, nor they me.

“Here, you!”

A hoarse female voice accosted me. I knew it was me she wanted. There was nobody else around. It was Menendra. As Lepida had said, like so many in Rome she had a heavy foreign accent. Earlier she had avoided me. Now, from her stance, feet apart and arms folded, she had sought me out deliberately. Her attitude was not friendly.

Behind her stood two large men. They never directly threatened me. Their presence was enough. Everyone understands a pair of heavies like that.

Instinctively I glanced back to the bar, but we all knew that by the time I could attract attention, it would be too late. I had better cooperate.