Graveyard of the Hesperides

XXXVII

“Albia! You took your time.” Ravenous, my bridegroom sounded as sharp as if we were married already. Could our bliss be over-so soon?

It seemed worth reviving; I kissed him. “I apologize, darling. But I bring holy broth made from bootleg beef, if you don’t mind stealing from the gods-”

“Sorry, divine ones…” Tiberius grasped the bowl of hot pot, already pulling his folding utensil set one-handed from a pouch. He kissed me back-so there was hope for us-then leaned himself against a pile of full sacks, falling to. Although he was a pious man, he seemed unfazed by benefiting from a bull that had escaped sacrifice. Nor did he take any notice of Dromo, who had been drawn into the courtyard by the stew’s enticing scent, looking hopeful.

Dromo was pushed aside by Julius Liberalis, the Hesperides landlord, arriving in a bate. I took over, so Tiberius could eat without harassment.

“Liberalis! Your contractor is busy. Come and talk to me instead.” Tiberius was listening in, so I pitched my voice so he could hear and catch up on my latest discoveries. “I have been learning some dirty things about your precious bar-not least that it once was a center for local abortions.”

“Rubbish!” Liberalis blustered, unconvincingly. “These premises are wholly above board.”

“Possibly now. It will be up to you how you choose to run your hostelry, won’t it, genial proprietor?” Playing fair, I allowed he might alter the bar’s character for the better. “You need to buck up though. Since Old Thales passed on, the Garden of the Hesperides has already come under vigiles scrutiny-and you haven’t even started yet.”

“Is it my fault you dug up a load of old bodies?”

I felt my chin lift. “Bodies that are assuming a more mysterious role than ever. I now know about the salesmen who were in the bar on the night of the tragic events. They were locals, a group of men who are still well- known in the Ten Traders. They simply stopped coming because Thales quarreled with and then barred them. My sources reckon the falling-out was most likely unprovoked.”

Liberalis had the grace to nod. “Yes, he was rather like that.”

“Don’t model yourself on him then! Ever heard of Gavius?”

“I know him. He sells marble as a fascia for bar counters. Acting as a middleman for all the big quarries. He reclad both of our worktops recently.”

In that case, it was indefensible that Liberalis had previously claimed to know nothing about the salesmen and their evening drinks. I wanted to know why he had lied, then more about the salesmen, possible witnesses, and their connection with the bar. “Was this work done after you took over, or was Thales still living?”

“No, he’d gone. It was my first improvement, straight after the bar came to me. What of it?”

“Well, to start with, you were present the night Rufia vanished. So when I asked who was here then, you strung me along deliberately.”

“All right, I thought it might have been them.”

“No, you knew! Now if the Gavius crew are not our five buried skeletons, I ask you yet again. What other group came to the bar that night? Who are those dead men?”

The new landlord applied an innocent expression, still pretending he was quite different from his more raffish predecessor. “Sorry, I can’t help.”

“Maybe Gavius will tell us,” Tiberius mumbled through a mouthful of stew, trying to scare Liberalis for me.

“Good thinking, love.” I played along. “I’ll call on him next. The marble crew won’t remember drinking or shagging a barmaid ten years ago; they probably do that every night. But having a big row with Thales should have stuck; they can tell us who was here then. They may even say what Julius Liberalis was doing that evening, since his own memory is so vague.” Liberalis shuffled anxiously.

Had Thales quarreled with the marble-suppliers deliberately, to make them go home before the real trouble started? Was he clearing the bar, to leave no potential witnesses to what he already had planned?

“So tell me,” I broached Liberalis, changing my tone, “what brings you here today, looking so anxious?”

I hoped he had had a serious rethink. No chance of that, unfortunately. “I came to see the damage to my bar,” he grouched instead.

I refused to sympathize. “Well, you came too late, man. You’re using a good contractor; it is already cleaned up and reinstated.”

“Yes, I can see. But Manlius Faustus sent a message about what it was like this morning.”

Manlius Faustus stayed on his sacks, methodically spooning up stew.

“I saw it myself, a total mess. Liberalis, all you cared about from the start is whether this will hold up the work.” Exasperated, I went fully onto the attack. “Of course the real problem is that we have uncovered a serious crime, the culprits are clearly still out there, yet nobody-especially you-has the sense to tell us who they are. There would have been no damage to your place if we had had these people in custody. It’s time for you to cooperate, I’d say!”

Liberalis looked shifty but made no reply.

“Oh come on! You already admitted it was Gavius in the bar. So who else did you see that night?”

He shook his head as if the answer was nobody. I had never believed that. So he was still stubbornly lying.

I snapped at him to get a grip. I was thoroughly riled. I mentioned how we once presumed Menendra’s heavies were involved, although our eyewitness discounted them. That was when Liberalis finally burst out with a completely new complication: “Eyewitness? If somebody saw who did it, you tell him to be careful! I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. These people mean business.”

“What people? What business are they in?”

He sighed. He was pulling at his hair again as he admitted unhappily, “The bar business. If I’m right, Flavia Albia, this was aimed at me.”

For once he had startled me. Even Tiberius stopped eating. While he, like a sharp contractor, probably began thinking that if the site intrusion was a customer’s own fault, the customer would have to pay for the damage, I asked severely, “What have you done, Liberalis, to deserve such punishment?”

He squirmed, his usual reaction to pressure. Then he finally owned up: “I told them I saw no reason to pay any protection money while the bar was closed for work.”

“Protection money?”

Out of a corner of my eye I saw Tiberius pass his bowl to his slave. Dromo complained it was empty, then started to lick out the gravy. His master came over to us, mopping his mouth with a napkin and, full of official interest, demanding that Liberalis explain.

It turned out all the local bars paid a gang for “protection,” which of course meant bribes not to harass their premises. This came as no surprise; it is a centuries-old crime that the authorities will never stamp out because bar owners are always too scared to complain.

Tiberius was growling under his breath at the landlord’s accepting attitude. When pushed, Liberalis told him that in the High Footpath neighborhoods, including the Ten Traders, the leading villains were the Rabirius gang. Tiberius glanced at me; we had come across them during a previous case.

“I’ll just have to pay up now.”

“You could try reporting it!” Tiberius answered sternly.

Liberalis shrugged, very matter-of-fact. “It’s only an overhead.”

“No, it’s extortion.”

“I don’t want to watch my bar burn down.”

“Is that how they intimidate you? Who does it? The elder or younger Rabirius? Roscius is the youngblood’s name.”

“Not sure. They send agents. Thales knew Rabirius quite well,” said Liberalis. “Old cronies, or pretended to be. I’ve never had a personal visitation, just a couple of henchmen come round like door-to-door sponge-sellers. Only they are not vending anything, and they are very menacing. They stand up close, then don’t smile.”

“Shark tactics!” This situation annoyed Tiberius. “Rabirius is supposed to be getting on in years. The next generation want to wrest control from him-we anticipate a crime war. Are threats the only way they lean on you?”

“That’s all. Leave it, Legate.”

“Have they tried the trick of forcing a man of theirs on to your staff?”

“A plant?” Clearly Liberalis was worldlier than he appeared.

“That’s what I mean. Observing you, taking charge of the cash box, creaming off profits, letting you know they know everything that goes on in your place?”

“No, it’s simple protection. If I pay them, we all rub along fine. This is how things are done in the trade.”

Ideas were jumping at me. “So did Thales always pay up?” I wondered whether the five dead men could have been enforcers; had Thales fought back? He would have been a brave man, which did not fit with what I had heard. But his heir assured me Old Thales paid up sweetly. There had never been bad feeling. “Do the Rabirius men habitually drink here?”

“Oh no. They have their own places where they spend time; they never mix business and leisure. All they ever take from us is a quick hospitality beaker of wine.”

“Formally sealing the deal? So civilized!” I scoffed.

Liberalis missed the point. “Well, we’ve always given them our top quality, the flagon we hide in the cupboard, to make sure they leave happy … You need to explain to her,” he told Faustus crossly, “how the business world works!”

“I think she knows” was the quiet answer.

Liberalis was feeling the pressure; he flounced off. Over his shoulder he threw one last barb: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Flavia Albia, buying a meat dish from a bar. You should know that contravenes the Emperor’s food regulations!”

I knew that too. But sometimes the law is plain ridiculous. For me, if a decree seems outrageous, I stand up to it.

Of course if it’s a decree from Domitian, I do it discreetly. I’m not stupid.