Graveyard of the Hesperides

LVI

I wrote down the missing men’s names in my note tablet. I opened the scroll and read it. Questions had indeed been asked of Rome by a provincial governor on behalf of supplicants. Diligent checks were conducted; polite answers were sent to Alexandria. No trace. Regret was stated. The initials recording any action were always: LPL. That was Morellus’ predecessor: Lucius Petronius Longus, my uncle, now retired. He must have hated the waste of time, but he would have been efficient.

I bought Morellus another cup of mulsum, having one myself. It tasted sweet. Progress on what had seemed an impossible case lightened my heart. We shared a laugh that after all I had found myself investigating lentil-supply wars. “Only you, Flavia Albia!”

“Only me!” I found a grateful grin for him. “Thank you, Titus Morellus. You are a worthy friend. You shall have double barley cakes at my wedding.”

“Barley!” We both giggled helplessly at the mention of a grain.

Morellus, childlike, made more flatulence jokes. Having four young children, he was very good at sound effects. I lifted my face to the evening sky where the fast clouds scudded, as I enjoyed the unexpected breakthrough.

Promising to keep him informed, I said goodbye to the raddled inquiry chief before I returned to the hired room. Tomorrow would be a big day. At its end, I must abandon work, whether finished or not, then transport myself to my parents’ house where I was supposed to sleep overnight-assuming a nervous bride could sleep at all-before my wedding.

I tried to sleep tonight at least. After a brief session of thinking through the lentil aspect, I went out like a blown lamp. Not long later, when the street noises were still loud, I awoke with a start. Someone was coming upstairs to the room.

Of course I could be under attack like Gavius, but instinct took me to the door. Still bleary, I seized no weapon. I was less alarmed this time, partly because the previous visitor was only Morellus, but mainly because even through sleep the footsteps sounded familiar. The thoughtful arrival carried a small pottery lamp to aid immediate recognition. I wondered which bar counter he had stolen it from.

“Tiberius! I thought you weren’t coming back tonight?”

“Missed you!”

He ran upstairs, enfolding me in a hug. After clinging for a few moments to assure himself I still existed, he blew out the lamp. We went to bed, for sleeping purposes. Lying in the dark, I summarized my finds. Then it was his turn. He told me the house was now habitable. “I hope you like it.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do.”

“Then so will I. We have the same taste. We share the same habits, which is what makes a home work. I only remember Lesser Laurel Street as a neglected wreck, but if you think it suits us, I am happy, love.”

Tiberius murmured, satisfied. Just before we fell asleep he felt obliged to give a wedding progress report; I duly listened. “They are all set to start baking tomorrow. A fashionable cook, highly exclusive, has been ordered. Name of Genius.”

I let out a huge groan. “Genius! What is anybody thinking of? I know him. He is terrible. Genius was one of my father’s big slave-buying disasters. Every time we hear of him doing some smart banquet, we all fall about in hysterics. His fame is a complete con. Genius absolutely cannot cook.”

Once I stopped ranting, Tiberius soothed me. “Don’t worry, he has become too famous to rustle up anything himself these days, so comes with a battery of elegant, competent under-chefs who do all the work. My wedding planners assure me Genius idolizes Falco as the man who gave him his start, and adores him so much he will gratefully produce superb wedding food-all at cost too.”

“My wedding is on the cheap!”

“I don’t think so. They tell me Genius is now a legend for his unheard-of exotic ingredients.”

“Oh, not ostrich tongues! That is so out of date…” I sighed and gave up. “I just hope he knows that the best, most desirable lentils in the Empire are produced in Egypt.”

Chuckling, Tiberius cuddled up to me. We slept.

30 August

Three days before the Kalends of September (a.d. III Kal. Sept.)

One day before the wedding of Tiberius Manlius Faustus and Flavia Albia