Graveyard of the Hesperides

by Lindsey Davis

  “I don’t suppose you are old enough to remember a group that included a man with a serious limp?”

  “Ten a denarius. People are always being run over by drays or walking under millstones.”

  I thanked him again quietly. Yes, identifying our corpses was going to be difficult.

  Let alone the dog.

  *

  I nearly didn’t bother asking. “One more question, if you will. Did Old Thales ever own a dog?”

  “Pudgy,” the waiter replied, this time not even stopping to think. “It was always coming over here and squatting on our pavement with galloping diarrhea. Hades, I haven’t thought of Pudgy in years. I’ve upset myself now…” He shuddered dramatically. “Old Thales bloody loved that hairy thing, but trust me, it was awful.”

  I tried to ignore Tiberius grinning at me. “Pudgy died?”

  “It would have been old now if it hadn’t! It swallowed the heel off a boot someone chucked it to play with. Choked to death. Thales sobbed for four days.”

  I hardly dared continue. “I don’t suppose you know what he did with Pudgy’s remains?”

  “Oh everybody knew. He made a big thing of it. Buried in a big hole out the back. Old Thales held a very drunken funeral in the garden, followed by a week of massive drinking. He was going to put a plaque up but he never got around to it. Well, it would have cost him. He didn’t love the dog—or anyone—enough to open his money chest. Then, just before he did us all a favor and killed himself with drink, he sobered up and immediately forgot all about poor old Pudgy. Talk about a dog’s life.”

  “And was this around the time, would you say, that Rufia vanished? In the Amphitheater year?”

  “Probably. Perhaps before. Not long.”

  “You can’t be certain?”

  “No. I don’t note the death of somebody else’s horrible dog in my annual calendar.”

  “Apology!”

  “Accepted.”

  “Why did Old Thales forget his adored pet?” Tiberius suddenly broke in.

  “Picked up a new little girlfriend. Adored her even more. Didn’t we all? Nobody knew what she saw in him. She was so cute … Hercules, I remember her all right! I wonder whatever became of her?”

  “What was her name?” I asked, eager to identify this cute creature.

  A typical man, he did not remember the beauty as well as he claimed. “Hades, don’t ask me. It’s been bloody years. They come and go. How can you expect me to remember one little tart’s name among so many on the street? Even if she really was one of the gorgeous ones!”

  End of story, so far as he was concerned.

  Sighing, I turned to Tiberius. He could see I was despondent; he spoke encouragingly. “Brilliant, Flavia Albia. Pudgy. You have put a name to one of our bodies.”

  “Sadly, my love, it is the one nobody now cares about.” I cursed my luck mildly, in the manner of my father: “This could only happen to me. I have six bodies from a crime scene, but all I can identify is the dog!”

  Not a flicker showed on his face as Tiberius told me deadpan, “Don’t forget we dug up a chicken bone as well.”

  “Naturally. Darling heart, I am now working on who the chicken may have been.”

  “Good to have priorities,” he answered, smiling. Then suddenly he burst out with, “Just three days now!”

  The wedding.

  XLII

  Where next? The day was drawing on. Then as we returned to the Garden of the Hesperides, we saw the waiters, Nipius and Natalis, leaving for their evening shift, which I remembered would be at the Four Limpets.

  Tiberius, who found them a louche pair he did not want to talk to now, strode in ahead of me, heading for his site. I managed to greet Nipius and Natalis with a laughing air, as if something hilarious had just happened. “Hello, you two. I’m thrilled to tell you that with gritty detective work, I have identified one of the corpses!” Perhaps they looked wary; perhaps they only wondered why I found it so funny. “Here’s a test of your memories: Do either of you remember Pudgy?”

  How fine it would be if this dead dog, who seemed quite incidental, provided my way into the case. Good boy! Have a bone on me in Hades …

  The waiters had been to the baths or a barber; they were swanning about in a reek of hair oil. Both men wore their usual green tunics, probably not laundered since I saw them last. I had forgotten how they exuded unreliability. Still, I didn’t want a chickpea flatbread with no fish pickle and a small red wine, only their memoirs.

  “Pudgy!” They looked at one another, then jointly assumed postures of exaggerated shock. “Old Pudgy?” cried Natalis, adjusting his pebble pendant. “Thundering Jupiter, what’s that pooch got to do with anything?”

  “I am confident some of the bones are his.”

  “Hers,” Nipius corrected me, with a rattle of his bracelets. “She was a girlie. Ought to have been long forgotten. Hades, Albia, you do like to be thorough. Do you always make a habit of turning up every pet anyone ever shoveled away under a rose bush?”

  “I like dogs … Anyway I find it satisfying to put on name labels.” I hinted I could be adding more in the near future.

  “Pudgy was an awful creature. She caused such trouble—bites, fights, always in heat. Ever tried running a bar where a bitch has a long list of desperate callers but her master wants to keep her pure so he can sell the hulking offspring as purebred novelties? We couldn’t move for mongrels we were trying to chase away, then Pudgy would have her great lumps of puppies. It was disgusting. Everyone loathed her, except Thales.”

  “You got rid of her, though, in the end. Didn’t she choke to death on a boot?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Someone gave it her to play with?”

  “Rhodina. Gods, she was a dozy tramp.” Nipius had revealed the name before apparently having second thoughts.

  “Thales’ girlfriend,” I agreed in a light tone, not even making it sound like a question. Since they did not correct me, this must be correct. “I’ve heard all about her. Beauty doesn’t go with brains. She was a real looker, wasn’t she? All the men were after her? So Thales couldn’t believe his luck and I suppose he would forgive her anything?”

  “Oh, he didn’t forgive her losing Pudgy!” scoffed Natalis. “The row about his precious dog went on and on. Even when he pretended to let it go, he kept brooding.”

  I had casually positioned myself in the gap between the counters, so the waiters could not leave. Holding them there, I stopped pretending to laugh about it. “What you say isn’t what I have been told. The word elsewhere is Pudgy died accidentally, Thales was heartbroken, he nearly killed himself with drink—and only stopped moaning when he took up with his new girlfriend.”

  Typically, the waiters decided it was more important to brag about their own information than to hide the facts. “You were told wrong then!” Natalis insisted, with some scorn. “You’ve been talking to those no-hoper delinquents at the Romulus or the Soldier’s Rest. We worked here, we ought to know what happened.”

  “Indeed you should, boys—I am happy to believe all you say.” That was a rare promise to witnesses. They were mad if they believed me. “So the gorgeous bundle called Rhodina worked as a waitress here?”

  “Oh she did.”

  “A hot favorite with Old Thales?”

  “In his bed most nights, from well before Pudgy copped it. He was besotted. She strung him along.”

  “Usual story!” I nodded. “Was she young?”

  “Young and pert. He wasn’t her first conquest. Nor was she his, come to that.”

  “Then she accidentally killed off his dog?”

  “She really did not like that dog,” Natalis muttered, with passion. “None of us did. Pass too close and it would nip you for nothing. Rhodina would not go near it. Customers who sat or stood by Pudgy never got a drink from her. We had to serve them. The dog was a big, powerful thing; Rhodina was terrified of it.”

  “Well, that was why she tried to distract it with
the boot,” explained Nipius. “She never intended to destroy the creature—or so she said afterward—though when it started gagging horribly, she made no attempt to help. She was certainly not sorry it died.”

  “Not until Thales went up in flames.”

  “So he realized it was her fault?” I asked.

  “Not to start with. She very carefully said nothing.”

  “So he didn’t blame her?”

  “Not until he found out!” crowed Natalis. Nipius giggled at the memory.

  “She told him?”

  “She was dim, but not that stupid. Someone in the bar must have snitched. Not us,” Nipius assured me quickly.

  “I don’t suppose it matters who … Then what? Was he furious?”

  “Is Etna a volcano?”

  I felt my eyebrows lift. “Was Thales so angry he might actually murder her?”

  “Not him. Thales was always all talk and no go. He spent a long time raging at her, but he did seem to cool off.”

  “You don’t think that was genuine? What made him settle, or seem to?”

  “She must have got round him.”

  “Know how she did that?”

  The two waiters looked at me pityingly. I was pointedly informed that anyone could guess.

  29 August

  Four days before the Kalends of September (a.d. IV Kal. Sept.)

  Two days before the wedding of Tiberius Manlius Faustus and Flavia Albia

  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 c
hef 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.”