Graveyard of the Hesperides

XLIII

They had no more to tell me about the dead dog or the long-lost waitress, so I let them go.

I gave up my inquiry that day. I call myself tough, but am not as strong as I would like; it is a relic of my early life. Mother had me diagnosed with rickets by the same kindly old doctor who helped her clear me of scabies. Glaucus, at the gym Father goes to, gave me exercises that I have done from adolescence, but I am stuck with soft bones.

Tiberius felt that after the long walk up the Viminal with the Three Graces, even he had had enough. We spent an easygoing evening together. We were subdued, and deliberately did not talk about the case.

The Ten Traders area seemed quiet that night too. There were fewer people out and about, as happens for no obvious reason. Just when you think you have taken the measure of a place, people change their habits. Maybe for an evening, sometimes forever. It reminds you to resist assumptions.

On that basis, I would cautiously avoid deciding yet that Thales, who had for so long been the alleged killer of his barmaid Rufia, had actually murdered his other barmaid, Rhodina. It was tempting. But why would everyone at the time of the murder fix on the wrong woman, not the victim in question?

Did two barmaids disappear simultaneously? Was that possible? People knew Rufia had vanished, but no one said anything about Rhodina. Why the difference? Either could simply have moved on to work somewhere else. A waitress with looks can always find employment; a waitress with only experience may find it harder, but she ought to succeed. If Thales was as awful as he sounded, and angry with her anyway, Rhodina might have slipped away without telling anyone. They might all have guessed why, so that aroused no comment. But why would the other one, Rufia, the queen of the bar, also go?

Stop, Albia! Let it rest. Cleanse your brain.

We retired to our room at an earlier hour than sometimes. Even the lumpy bed seemed attractive.

The ideal Roman wife is welcoming to her husband, not shy of intercourse. I might not be the safest choice for Tiberius now he wanted to remarry, but I would be a good wife to him. Well, once his wedding was over I would be. Meanwhile, when gray eyes turned to me with amorous intentions, he was the lover I wanted; it was easy to be welcoming.

We slept in each other’s arms, even though it was a sultry night. The weather must be slowly building toward a summer storm, though so far it refused to break. We awoke to a hot, sticky morning. We were up early, finding the temperature already uncomfortable. I dressed in the lightest gown I had with me, plus my loosest sandals; I wore no jewelry. I hoped I would not be required to chase about. Today would be hard. It was going to be hot.

We bought bread, which we took to eat at the Hesperides, since Tiberius was supposed to meet Gavius there. The night watchman told us Gavius came last night on his own for an advance inspection of the counters. “I’d better tell you-he sped off rather fast. I hope I didn’t upset him.”

“Oh? What happened, Trypho?”

“He had two huge dogs with him. We got talking, so I told him you had found the landlord’s old pet, and how it died by choking.”

Yesterday Tiberius must have told the workmen about Pudgy while I was talking to the two waiters. They then gossiped with Trypho. All our men were fascinated by the mystery of the skeletons; they were watching how Tiberius and I set about solving it. The foreman was probably holding bets on our success. Gambling for money was illegal but that never stopped anyone.

“So what was the problem, Trypho?”

“The dead dog, it seemed. Apparently, that one they unearthed was the grandmother of the man’s own pets. He didn’t like the story of the boot, so maybe that was it. He definitely took something I said a bit badly. He’s coming back with a price for the smashed counters today. Maybe you can soothe him,” suggested Trypho hopefully, looking at me.

So that was to be my job. I married the firm’s owner, then every time his workmen upset someone-Juno, they were builders; how often was that going to happen?-I would be the emissary they sent in. I made another mental note: our very clean Iberian kitchen maid had to be taught to bake must cake with a honey glaze, so I always had treats for peacemaking.

“How do you mean, ‘he took something a bit badly?’ What exactly am I in for, Trypho?”

“I don’t know. He seemed to grow very agitated; he said he wanted to talk to you. It’s not my fault!”

“No, I suppose it’s not. Gavius is very fond of dogs; perhaps he wants to know whose boot killed Pudgy … He could have come and found me last evening if he wanted to talk.”

“He said darkly that he wanted to think things through. When he left here, he went over the road to the Brown Toad for a drink, though I saw him leave soon afterward.”

Trypho scuttled off to sleep. He left looking guilty. Tiberius thanked me in advance for my help with Gavius, twinkling more than usual. “The woman’s touch!” he murmured, subtly satirical.

While we were waiting for the marble-seller, we had another surprise visit from our wedding planners. They had no idea of helping busy people by making an appointment.

Julia and Favonia arrived in Mother’s carrying chair, with Katutis obligingly trudging behind. Shrieking that they had something highly urgent to discuss in massive secrecy, they jumped out, grabbed me and rushed me away from Tiberius. I was told I could buy them refreshments while we talked. “We don’t have any money.” I could have guessed that. I managed to steer them past the Brown Toad, and sat them down outside the Medusa. Katutis very sensibly went on his own to the Romulus.

They stared at the Brown Toad. Antistius had described our visit. Presumably he left out the part where he tried to buy a bunk-up from the waitress and was offered Macedonian delight instead.

“How come you’ve been talking to the brother-in-law?”

“They came last night. Mother thought she ought to give them dinner.” I noted that she had kindly not invited us. “No, she said you and Tiberius needed time on your own.”

“Mother is always right.”

“That’s what she says.”

I summoned olive bowls and whatever could be provided that approximated to mint tea.

“May we have just a teensy snail shell of honey with it, if it’s not too much trouble, please?”

“And possibly might I have mine in a glass, not a cup?”

Dear gods, these two were the daughters of an informer who ran an auction house, yet they had no idea.

While we waited the long time this outrageous novelty took to prepare (the chef actually popped out to have a look at us, with a sour expression), my sisters discussed the artistic merits of the painted gorgon’s-head bar sign. Despite the stated urgency of their mission, they endlessly discussed the Medusa’s wild snake hairstyle, which reminded them we were all to have a specially hired beautician to primp us fashionably on the wedding day. Although they conceded I must take precedence, they begged to be with her first. “I know you’re the bride, of course you are, but it’s hardly worth bothering. Anything she does for you will be hidden beneath the saffron veil-”

“Hidden and flattened. Something absolutely needs to be done with Mother; she’s so hopeless with hair and she’s the matron of honor. The woman can then just fit you in. Albia darling, you do see?”

I saw. My day was really theirs.

“Tiberius will think you are gorgeous; he’ll be so surprised you turned up, he’ll be up there in heaven, slurping ambrosia on Mount Olympus.”

“Tiberius does not slurp. I wouldn’t marry a man who cannot eat nicely. Mother must have told you its importance. Otherwise, it’s the fast route to divorce because your husband is so irritating … I agreed to have this wedding. Tiberius knows I will be there.”

They wavered. My certainty was alien to these butterflies. They wanted everything to go right-yet they loved frightening themselves with pointless panic over what might go wrong.

Their refreshments came. As usual, they received exactly what they had asked for, delivered without comment. No wonder they never had any idea they were too demanding.

“So, Toodles and Floodles, what’s urgent?”

For a moment they looked blank. “Oh dear gods, Albia, it’s absolutely terrible. We have forgotten the most important thing-we have to go shopping instantly!”

“I can’t.”

“You must!”

“Why?”

“This could have been such a disaster. Listen-we still have to organize bride-and-groom presents!”

What?

“You know you and Tiberius have to give gifts to each other. Everyone will be shocked if you don’t. What are you getting Tiberius?”

“His best present ever: me.”

“Don’t joke. We thought of an amazing thing you absolutely must give him: how about a gold torque?”

I sighed, but only to myself. In the fifteen years I had lived as one of the Didii I had become used to gifts with some perceived tribal connection. Anything British, Gallic, Belgic or German, or from anywhere the people looked goggle-eyed in their ethnic art, was deemed especially appropriate for me. Sometimes I pointed out that I wanted to forget mystic Britannia, scene of my tragic childhood. That made no difference.

My sisters were staring at me with new uncertainty. Julia had the most sensitivity. “Oh no! You don’t think Tiberius is a torque man?”

“I am sure. He is very traditional.”

“Father has a torque.”

I huffed. “It was a gift from a crazy king. Does Falco wear it? No, he has placed it around the neck of his bust of the Emperor Vespasian in his study. Don’t you remember the fuss, because the necklace got bent in the process?”

“Well what instead? We spent ages and ages thinking up that idea. It seemed so perfect.”

“Time spent in thought is never wasted, darlings … Do you know what Tiberius intends to give me?”

“He claims it is a surprise. We bet he hasn’t organized anything.”

“He will.” I would not waste energy hoping for earrings; his last gift to me was a stone bench. Exactly what I wanted at the time, and we were not even lovers then. Mind you, it was glaringly obvious we would be.

“So, what for him? Albia. Albia, Albia, choose something!”

It came to me of its own accord. When I was ill recently, while he nursed me, he had sometimes read, either to himself when I was sleeping or out loud to entertain me. Horace, he liked. I remembered parts of Juvenal. Cicero’s brother on how to win votes in elections. We were close to the Argiletum, supposed home to many scroll-sellers, which would be convenient for the purchase. “I shall give him a book.”

The girls were entranced. “Oh-love poems! You are brilliant. That is such a good wheeze.”

“No. Favonia, settle down and listen to me. Love poetry is either about love miserably denied, or a dead spouse, or it’s too pornographic so Tiberius couldn’t show people what he received. And on the whole it’s terrible to read.”

They groaned. “So what then?”

“He likes to know everything. I shall give him Pliny’s Natural History. That purports to contain all the world’s knowledge.”

There was a pause. “It’s an encyclopedia.”

“Shitty shit, Albia. Isn’t it absolutely gigantic?”

“Don’t swear. Thirty-seven scrolls, I believe. He will think this is very romantic, I promise you. Don’t tell him.”

“Oh, Albia!”

“Do not tell him, Julia!”

My sisters were horrified by my grand idea. They wanted to argue. However, I sent them packing. A man had arrived over the road at the Garden of the Hesperides. From the way he was measuring up the bar counters, he must work with Gavius. I said I had to go.

I shepherded my sisters back into the chair, allowed them to lean out and kiss me goodbye, then I exchanged greetings gravely with Katutis, asking him to secretly fix up the encyclopedia purchase. By that time Tiberius and our foreman, Larcius, were outside the bar, in conversation with the newcomer.

His name was Appius. He was another hefty man in dusty clothes, one of the colleagues who had been present the night Old Thales quarreled with Gavius. I went on the alert. That meant Appius knew, and had been entertained by, Rufia. He had been here shortly before the six dead people met their fates. I held back during the professional building talk, but I was waiting. Appius could tell me his version of what happened that night.

He was supposed to meet Gavius here this morning. They would confirm what repairs could be done, then work out costs. Strictly speaking this was a separate job, directly done for Liberalis, but Tiberius would oversee it as part of the main works.

I knew why. Project managers do not like two separately hired sets of builders on their site, in case of conflicts. Fair enough. Informers feel exactly the same way about other people getting under our feet and pinching our materials. My clue is not your clue, sonny. Shove off and eavesdrop on somebody else.

Gavius had said he would meet Appius for a bite beforehand. He never showed up. Appius kept muttering it was extremely unusual.

After a while, we could no longer ignore this. When Gavius still failed to put in an appearance, surprise became puzzlement, then concern. “This is just not like him. Gavius never lets people down. He may have been delayed, but I’m beginning to think something must have happened…”

In the end, I suggested we should walk along to Mucky Mule Mews to look for him.