Graveyard of the Hesperides

VIII

I could take my questions no further at this stage. I needed more of a lead. When I left, Costus and his staff escorted me to the door with elaborate gentility. I glanced back and waved. I knew the men stayed there in a group to watch me down the street. While I would like to think that was because they found my questions apt and my person attractive, I suspected they had another motive. My visit had felt vaguely unsatisfactory. They knew something. I for my part did not yet understand enough to probe for it.

It was likely to be some time longer before Faustus returned. Not only was the Aventine a good step from here, he had given himself too much to do: aediles’ business, wedding plans, fetching luggage and visiting Lesser Laurel Street to see what his workmen were up to. I hoped they would not dig up any more human remains, or I too was liable to be overstretched.

Of course finding bones was possible in any city, especially in Rome, which had such a long history. The rule against burying a corpse within the city boundary was good public hygiene, but it must always have led to the surreptitious concealment of bodies. It was not necessarily the result of misdemeanor. Many of the poor could not afford a niche in the cheapest columbarium, let alone a tomb in a necropolis. Even to bury ashes in a broken old pot, they would first have to pay for cremation. So, when digging anywhere in Rome, there was a good chance of finding bones that should not be there. Skeletons of babies abounded, though if a child died in its first four days it was permissible to bury the body at home. It was better to tuck your stillborn under your own threshold than cast its sad corpse onto a rubbish heap with the risk of dogs, rats, carrion crows and witches, let alone youths looking for something horrible to kick around the streets.

I decided that Faustus and I had better try to identify whether the bones we had were truly those of a woman, one who had vanished in living memory. There was no point in me chasing down what happened to Rufia if this was not her at all. By the look of it, the Garden of the Hesperides had been a bar since the Republic, so given what tended to happen in bars, it could have a long series of sad little waitresses who had met untimely ends.

Now I was despondent. Why had I so easily gotten involved? Why did I never learn?

I tried a small bathhouse, only reminding myself how disgusting they can be. At your local, you stop seeing the scum. Here, floating dirt and oil lapped in the basins and pools all too obviously, while the floors were slippery with other people’s scraped-off filth. The customers looked like people who peed in the plunge pools.

All right; you can’t tell from appearance. But they all looked like people who were just asking to be insulted.

Emerging glumly, I explored more stalls and shops around the Ten Traders area, buying provisions that I carried back to our hired room. The bag of bones silently greeted me; I tucked it away under the bed. While I waited for Faustus I took more note of the location.

The room was directly above a teeming crossroads. Behind a battered shutter, I found a balcony onto which you could take one step, if you really wanted to stand on a ledge like a pigeon. Teetering there I could see people thronging the Vicus Longus, with all the usual extras: smells I tried not to identify, mules braying while their drivers yelled themselves hoarse, strident women arguing with hoarse neighbors, artisans singing as they worked, copper-beaters hammering, carpenters rasping wood with adzes that set my teeth on edge. Someone was scraping out a huge cooking pot into the gutter and a sad child was bawling for attention it would never receive. Nine feral dogs in a pack came rampaging down the road, scarily barking their heads off, then bystanders yelled after the dogs.

By now I had identified some of the smells, and wished I hadn’t. I braced myself to keep looking because I wanted to get a feel for the neighborhood.

People came from all levels and the whole fabric of society. Groups of the idle hung about waiting for life to improve, making more noise than seemed wise, given that while I watched a bunch of the Urban Cohorts marched in, looking for people to harass. A few mature women who looked quite respectable were going home with shopping baskets. These women would want places for religious observance, though temples were nowhere in evidence. The closest thing to incense was the pungent after-waft of some public slaves who had been given garlic soup. Perhaps it was so they wouldn’t notice the odor of the dung they were brushing from the road.

At least it was swept. These folk should try living in Fountain Court, which never was.

As the afternoon ended and evening began, people of the night started to emerge. Workers in the entertainment trade, bar staff, musicians, odd types who sold themselves in very curious ways, were all heading for their places of work-places that would be loud and lively far into the night, and I bet in this district their customers really lingered. An evening out at a bar was how they socialized and even did business; it staved off the misery of going home, when home was dire. This was not a quiet nook to live in, nowhere to live at all if you had any choice. Many people had none, so these miserable souls, with their children, aged parents and animals, would be venting their frustrations at all hours.

Looking down the smaller street that crossed the Vicus, I could see a couple in a clinch against a grimy wall down one alley while in another a cluster of men had their heads together as if inspecting stolen goods. Going into the alleyways was only to avoid being trampled. They did not care who was watching. Their activities were carried out in full view and even the heavy boots of the Urban Cohort soldiers failed to make them pause. I had better not let my lover take the air on our skinny balcony, or he would be faced with a crisis of conscience. He had enough to do, without wanting to clean up another aedile’s patch.

Fortunately, when he finally arrived it was dark, though as I let him in I saw him look back over one shoulder rather thoughtfully. He had his slave, Dromo, grumbling under the weight of luggage they had brought for us. I fed them both, then took Dromo to the Hesperides where he would have to sleep in any space he could find. When I returned to the room, Faustus was lying on the bed, spark out.

I stretched beside him quietly. He woke enough to murmur. A light kiss on my forehead from him served for our goodnight. We were so close now, we had already passed beyond needing to fuss. I spent a few moments thinking how hard the mattress was and then, lying close against his side, I too tried to sleep.

No use. I spent many more moments listening to the hubbub from outside. Added to the unfettered hum of voices, the Romulus had live music; on hot August nights like this the castanets and tambourines were brought out into the street, where the clientele joined in with stamps and clapping. The Four Limpets competed with a solo lyre, well-played if you like loud, weeping string instruments in the hands of a mad dramatic singer. Meanwhile a persistent pest with panpipes traveled around all the bars, tootling at drinkers until they paid him to move on.

At least I was getting the measure of this district at night, the low-grade noisy hot spot where poor Rufia was said to have been murdered.

Eventually Tiberius sensed through his slumber that I was struggling to find rest. He roused himself enough to gather me closer with one arm, then dropped off again immediately. I lay with my head on his shoulder, thinking about this. He had passion, when not poleaxed by weariness. Even tonight, he wanted to grip me tightly, as if I might escape him while he was lost in dreams. So here we were, utterly at ease together. Together for life now, I knew it. I would not need the wedding augur to foretell this by peering at a dead sheep’s liver.

Not that it would hurt to have him prophesy happiness to our families. They didn’t believe us. Tiberius was right: maybe the relatives would have more faith if a stranger in a dirty head veil told them.

Smiling to myself at the incongruity of having a husband I agreed with, finally I fell asleep.