Graveyard of the Hesperides

VII

They seemed willing to talk. At least that was my first impression. I admit I was reluctant to harbor doubts about such handsome samples of manhood. A bride is entitled to hanker for the freedom she is losing. Isn’t she?

Victor said they all drank at the Garden of the Hesperides, had done for years and still did in theory; as soon as it reopened for business they would return. “It’s a good bar.”

“Would you say you had some special relationship, or were you just ordinary customers?”

“Just normal.” Their profession gave them a thirst. The Hesperides was good for lunch and evening meals too, plus you could have a flutter on horses and chariots if you wanted.

“And other things?” I asked, trying to look matter-of-fact. Nobody volunteered an answer, so I added, “Or are you all good, clean-living boys?”

Erastus said Passus had never been good or clean-living; they all guffawed. He obviously had a reputation for playing around, which perhaps the others envied.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me. I’m a woman of the world and in my profession I’ve seen everything. If you go upstairs with waitresses-or with waiters, for that matter-it’s your business.” I saw no sign that any of them preferred the male sex, though I kept an open mind. “My only interest is what you can tell me about Rufia, who disappeared.” Still no admissions, so I changed my angle of questioning. “At least if you all knew her, can you describe her for me? So far she is only a name. Was she pretty? A good waitress? Was she well-liked?”

Erastus did the honors. “She was never much of a looker, but she was good at her job. She got on with everyone. She knew how to be friendly.”

“Could she be too friendly? Get herself into situations?”

“Rufia could take care of herself,” Costus weighed in. “She was the one who chucked out troublemakers if ever a strong arm was needed.”

“A woman had to break up fights? They do have male staff, don’t they?”

“Natalis and Nipius. But nobody argued with Rufia.”

“What she says goes,” Passus reinforced his master. So stern had been this legendary waitress, he still used the present tense. “Besides, if Rufia was trying to eject someone and they declined her invitation to leave, everyone else in the bar would come and help her.”

“Ho, ho! Her word was law?” That was slightly unexpected. “It doesn’t sound as though it would be easy for someone to overpower Rufia and do her in-which must be what happened, if those are her bones in the courtyard.”

“Overpowering is always doable if it’s tackled the right way,” Passus disagreed. I reminded myself that these experts spent their time persuading enormous specimens of cattle to go willingly to their deaths. It was essential that a sacrifice did not protest, or you had to start again.

It would have been impolite to suggest the victimarii had murdered Rufia. They seemed too good-hearted. (I know! That old cliche. I would never accept it from a witness, but of course my own judgment was trustworthy…) I momentarily envisaged them hanging a garland around the barmaid’s neck, walking her to an altar with gentle encouragement, then, Kneel down for us, Rufia, don’t worry-whack … stun … whizzo … slit-gather up all her spurting blood in special bronze bowls …

Presumably not. Whatever happened to Rufia was most likely sudden, messy violence carried out by an enraged acquaintance, or perhaps done by a stranger. A stranger would probably be untraceable now. An acquaintance might be an easier prospect.

“Did Rufia have a boyfriend?” They sniggered. Apparently not. So much for my most obvious suspect. “Do you find the suggestion amusing?” I pressed.

“She was not exactly the type,” claimed Erastus.

Passus added, “No one would have dared.”

“Being the bouncer? I am gathering that Rufia was a force of nature. Was she quarrelsome?”

“Not if you did things her way.”

“You’re implying people generally did? Anyone hold a grudge against her?”

Without obvious consultation, the victimarii all shook their heads. They were positive. Too positive? Sometimes you just catch a hint of conspiracy. Had I noticed flickers?

“All sure about that? Well, if you remember anything, please let me know.”

They each nodded again, good honest fellows. All not looking at one another.

Were they simply convinced there had been no grudges? That Rufia was a genuinely lovely girl with a sweet personality, whom everyone liked? A lovely but very strong-armed girl who could (and would) expel louts and generally make people follow orders? I had seen barmaids like that. They enjoy their power. Bars being what they are, I do not blame them.

“Do you remember that time, when she disappeared?” There were nods, freshly helpful. “Was it known immediately? The same night or next morning? Or did people only gradually become aware she had gone missing?”

This question seemed to puzzle them. “I suppose it was gradual,” decided Costus.

“The bar had other staff, so Rufia dropping her shifts might initially pass without disrupting the place?”

“There was some cursing from the waiters!” Victor grinned.

“Bars tend to have a shifting complement,” I mused. “Staff do come and go … How quickly did the dark rumors start? The suspicion that she had been murdered?”

They could not tell me. Stories of her being killed and buried in the courtyard seemed to have grown up slowly until all the world just knew about it.

“What did the landlord, Thales, have to say?”

“He harrumphed and made no comment. That was how he was.”

“Was he suspected from the beginning?” Again, the landlord’s supposed involvement developed subtly. There was no public outcry and no one investigated. Although people guessed Rufia had been killed and he was guilty, no one said so too loudly. “Were people scared of Thales?”

“He was not a man to cross unless you wanted to be barred.”

“Oh wonderful! Nobody thought about Rufia, only whether their own drinks were at risk!” It had a horrible ring of truth. “In general, was he violent?”

“Not particularly,” said Passus, the one who was supposed to have the filthy lifestyle.

“For a bar owner,” chuckled Erastus, a much quieter character. He had a birthmark down one side of his face that might put off some of the girls. When he was conducting a sacrifice, he would have to mask it with face paint so he looked perfect.

“Hmm … Do I deduce Rufia did not live on the premises? I know there are rooms above the bar.”

“When the place is up and running, those rooms are always in use,” said Costus.

“For travelers to rest their heads-or the purposes I mentioned earlier?”

“For all kinds of things,” he swore, pretending all these things were of an innocent variety. A sewing club met there? A group of pastoral poets?

The main point was that Rufia lodged somewhere else, which made it less likely anyone would go and check on her if she failed to turn up for duty. “I imagine she had a room not too far away?”

“Mucky Mule Mews, I believe.”

“Desirable area?” I was wry. They shared the joke.

“Very exclusive!” scoffed Costus. Erastus said his cousin lived there, but he always had, so he didn’t know any better.

As they told me about Mucky Mule Mews, I could see they were sharing some amusement at the thought of me going there. Was it also dangerous? I wondered. Would there be a risk to me if I went?

“This could explain what happened to her,” I said. “There are plenty of instances of weary bar staff leaving in the dark, after their workplace finally shuts in the small hours, then being waylaid as they make their way home. Especially women. Robbery may feature if the money’s easy to grab, but perverts are really after sex, sex with a vulnerable lone victim.”

“They would have spotted her in the bar?” suggested Passus, clearly not liking the thought.

“Either just that night, Passus, or perhaps they had been watching for weeks,” I told him. “Sometimes they have even made an approach and been rebuffed; more usually they have never spoken to the victim, who has never noticed them.”

“Scary!”

“It is. From what you say about Rufia, I would expect her to be streetwise, but she could have been suddenly jumped in a spot where she had no chance of escape, with nobody to hear a cry for help. Anyway, she would be tired after a long evening, off her guard.”

There was a flaw in this argument, which I did not mention. Why would a killer who attacked Rufia in the street bring back her body to the Hesperides afterward? She could have been buried anywhere, or just left. Why tie the murder so closely to her place of work?

I felt convinced that whatever misfortune had befallen Rufia, it must have happened at the bar. Either she never left that night, or she herself came back. But unless a lot of people witnessed her death and had since kept strictly silent, the event could only have occurred in the dead of night, after the Hesperides emptied and the other staff had gone home.

That would fit a fight with the landlord, as the rumors supposed.