“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.
XLIV
Gavius was a likeable man, with decent parents. I really did not want to see him harmed. But as soon as we reached the end of the alley, we knew.
Women were standing out on their doorsteps. A small knot of short, wide, horrible men with whips must be mule-drovers. A couple of raggedly dressed little children sat in the gulley by the nonexistent pavement, watching the adults. Everyone seemed to be waiting. They stood and stared. They knew something was wrong. Nobody took the initiative. I’d like to say it would never have happened on the Aventine, but around Fountain Court it would have been worse; people would have shrugged and quickly gone on their way.
Neither of his parents was visible, thank goodness.
We went up to his door, where we learned what had attracted local attention. Inside, the two dogs who lived with him were howling incessantly. The double sound was so insistent, so mournful, hairs stood on end in response.
We knocked. This produced even more frantic noises from the dogs indoors. Occasional heavy thumps suggested they had thrown themselves against the door. In between the barks, they were now whining desperately.
My two male companions decided who must go to the parents to ask for a spare latch-lifter: me, of course. Appius must have known the old couple, yet he did not volunteer. I wanted us simply to break down the door, but was persuaded against that. Off I went dutifully, to somehow obtain the gadget without mentioning why we all thought it might be necessary. “Aglaia and Thalia have been barking all night, disturbing people. Appius is afraid Gavius is ill, too many bar snacks maybe. We’re just going in to see what is worrying the dogs…”
We could guess.
*
Gavius lay inside. His two distressed dogs were coursing around him. When we went in, they broke off and skittered up to us, making frantic noises and knocking into one another, but to our relief neither was aggressive. We tried calming them, talking to them by name. They at once resumed their howling and agitated running around their master.
He was lying on the floor. He must have been there all night. I saw blood. Not in great quantities, but on his tunic and all around his head.
I managed to grab the dogs’ collars and hauled back hard to hold them. I had wondered if they would defend him against us, but we already knew these hulks were friendly; they made no attempt to stop us, though paws scrabbled hard on the floorboards when Tiberius went over. I was having trouble keeping them in check; they were so strong. Appius stood beside me, horrified, not helping.
Tiberius knelt beside Gavius for what seemed a long time. He felt the man’s neck for vital signs, tested his wrists for a pulse, murmured something inaudible, then closed the eyes respectfully. He straightened.
“What happened?”
“Stabbed in the neck.” It must have been quick or there would have been more blood. Something slender. Pocket fruit knife? Reed-pen cutter? A blade you could hide about your person to avoid the law. I saw no sign of this weapon. Taken away afterward.
“Oh, Gavius, Gavius old mate!” Appius crooned. His loss had him shaking his head over and over; we heard hopeless moans of protest. Gavius should not be dead.
Tiberius steadied him. “Appius, I want you to run for a doctor. Just to make sure, but
ask him to come quickly. Say an aedile requests it—and of course will pay for his visit.”
I released the dogs, unable to control them longer. They rushed back to Gavius, but now simply sat beside him whining or occasionally snuffling his body. I could not see his face, which was turned away from me.
Appius left us. He seemed glad to have something practical to do. Tiberius and I stood and breathed slowly, absorbing this.
Gavius had lived in a small rented room, as so many people did. Furnishing was basic. I had seen bleaker places, plenty of them. He kept his accommodation fairly neat. Perhaps his mother came and cleaned; perhaps he had been one of those men who do look after their nests. Various large feeding bowls for pets were in evidence; his own utensils were sparse by comparison. A doggy smell was everywhere; to me it was not objectionable. It looked as though officially they each had a blanket in a corner of the floor, but one or another may have climbed up on the bed every night to sleep with Gavius. Even if he grumbled, he would have allowed it, in reality welcoming them. Most nights he would have had drink in him anyway.
His animals gave him company. They were his children. He would have been heartbroken to leave his darlings like this. They would be heartbroken too, once they understood their master and best friend was lost to them.
The bed was made, not slept in last night. Evidence on a table implied only one person had sat there with a cup of wine. There was no sign of a meal, though space was cramped; an unmarried man would eat out. We knew Gavius liked to spend his evenings in bars with his friends.
The door and window showed no damage, so whoever had come here, Gavius let them in. Of course a strong man in his own home, with huge dogs, would have felt safe. Or perhaps he knew whoever called. That might make them easier to find when I started looking. Them? I was assuming more than one person could have been involved.
They must have knocked. Gavius allowed them to come in, or they pushed in past him, though there was no sign of a disturbance. Did Gavius realize why they had come?
They cannot have stayed long. With little delay or disturbance, they knifed him to death. They must have brought the knife or dagger; they took it away afterward. The dogs were no deterrent. They did not have to harm the dogs. So did they know the dogs? Did the friendly Graces recognize them?
Looking around the room, if anyone had stolen anything, I reckoned it was not much. Perhaps they took cash. Even if they did, that was not the primary reason for their visit.
They went, leaving the dogs inside with the body, closing the door. I doubted that anyone else in Mucky Mule Mews had had a breakin last night. If we asked the neighbors, they would all say they heard nothing. Not until this morning, when the desolate howling of Aglaia and Thalia told the world something definitely was not right.
XLV
Appius brought a doctor; Tiberius spoke to him in a low voice as they knelt to examine the lifeless man. Meanwhile, Appius and I put the dogs on their leads in case they ran away, then took them along to the parents’ house. There, I explained as gently as I could how Gavius had been found murdered. Before grief kicked in properly, his mother and father seemed more bemused than anything. Of course they claimed he was the best of men; no one could hold a grudge against him, let alone wish him harm …
I had heard this before, on enough occasions to receive it warily. Parents never know as much about their children as they think. The best of men, supposedly, can turn out to be amoral swine. And someone not only wished real harm on Gavius, they made sure it happened.
That he was a dutiful son remained true. He had been to see his aged parents last evening as usual. They spoke of him being a little distracted. His mother had thought he was not taking care of himself, though his father said she always thought that. His father had supposed Gavius had business on his mind.
“Work worries?”
“No, his business ran fine. Just musing on his latest project. He loved his work. He always became very involved in each new contract; he would think about it night and day. We kept telling him to let go a little and enjoy himself, but work was his life. He knew everyone and they all liked him. He had built up the firm until he was the only marble-seller for far and wide. All for nothing! Whatever will become of things now?”
This was tactless, since we had Appius with us. Presumably he, or one of the others we had not yet met, would take over.
Was rivalry the problem? I would have to judge whether what happened to Gavius arose from tensions within the crew. While we were waiting for Gavius at the bar, Appius had already told us that he was the right-hand man, but it was a role he seemed to relish. Things ran smoothly, he implied. They were on good terms. I had no impression that Appius had felt dissatisfied, hankering for more influence. He seemed a natural follower and supporter. His reaction to finding the body looked genuine too. Either he was in real shock or, if he had known about this in advance, he was a good actor.
The parents suddenly demanded to see their son’s body; we dissuaded them. For one thing, I realized Tiberius and the doctor were still there, no doubt discussing the cause of death.
Appius went out and found a sympathetic woman neighbor to sit with the old folk, who had both started to look much more frail and confused. The mother was frozen in misery; she said hardly a word. The father had to talk. “It’s always hard. When they are children, you know you must expect them to be at risk … Once they are grown, you suppose the dangers are over for them. No parent expects to have to bury a fully grown son.”
The neighbor sat them down and covered both with rugs that she found somewhere.
*
Tiberius came; we left the mews. Appius took us to the marble yard, where we met the other men for the first time. There were two more gnarled, muscled specimens, used to carefully carrying heavy slabs of marble. Quiet men, dry sense of humor. Big men who became soft lumps when faced with trouble. Men whose wives generally dealt with anything difficult.
Tiberius said what had happened. I watched the men’s reaction. They were stunned, then overwhelmed by it. With them, Appius now let go and showed his grief. One fellow said they needed a drink, so we could well have ended up in yet another bar. Inertia struck instead. They stayed at the yard.
We all sat around on piles of stone. It felt like respect to Gavius, who had loved his craft and personally selected the pieces we were sitting on. The crew said his knowledge of marble was unmatched, his enjoyment of materials wondrous. The trio talked about him quietly, their memories centered on how truly decent he had always been.
No one had expected to lose him. No one could imagine how their daily lives would be now, coping with the great hole of his sudden absence. Their anxiety was not for their livelihood. The work could carry on as before. Their troubled discussions concerned the loss of this crucial circle member. Their long-time leader. Their lifelong friend. As well as Appius, the other two said they would visit Gavius’ parents. They were like a family.
They fretted about the orphaned dogs. The old couple could not be expected to manage all three. No decision was reached, but I could see that eventually these work colleagues would organize a solution. Something would be done. One of these men, or someone they knew, would give the Three Graces good homes.
They wondered about the funeral. They wanted to put up a memorial. A collection was made immediately, while we were there with them. Even the one the others teased for never having any money promised he would borrow some from his brother that evening. These were tight-bonded men. They had worked as a team for many years, socializing together too. Two of them were married to sisters. If there was a festival, they all went to the arena as a group.
What we saw at the marble yard was different from the looser, more fluid, more transient community of bar staff. Those workers often knew each other, but they came and went frequently; they were not linked by family or past history in the same way as the marble crew. I wondered if it was relevant.
We left the yard with Appius; he was going to the
stone-recyclers’ guild. Gavius had been an official, and the guild ran a funeral club. He walked to the main street with us, stopping at a fountain to scoop up a drink. He gazed at us. Something was coming. “What’s worrying you, Appius?” I asked quietly.
During our discussion at the Hesperides this morning, while we waited for Gavius, Appius had told us he and Gavius had met the previous evening at a caupona. Appius had thought it was a routine supper, to make a plan for a site inspection. Only now did he wonder, he said, whether Gavius had been preoccupied.
I glanced at Tiberius. He seemed quiet, upset by finding the body. Still brooding on it. For no obvious reason at that moment, it struck me that he had not sent for the vigiles. As an official, he would normally make that his first move.
I sat on the edge of the fountain, dabbling my fingers over the big rounded edge of the bowl into the water. My tunic soon felt wet from splashes on the warm stone, but the day was so hot it would dry fast once I moved off. I stared down into the fountain, not meeting his eye, as I pointed out to Appius that everyone would want me to find out who killed his colleague. My immediate line of inquiry had to be whether Gavius had had any quarrels.
I led this conversation unaided. Tiberius stood nearby, apparently lost in his own thoughts.
According to Appius, yes, there was occasional bad feeling, though by virtue of inhabiting the sales territory the locals would generally prevail. Gavius had seen off anyone else who tried to sell marble pieces, whether to bars or anybody else. Appius provided the details fairly willingly. Years before, there had been one tussle with some Numidians who had tried to move in on the trade. Foreigners had to understand they could bring their materials to Rome, but were expected to hold off from direct sales. They had to pass on their imports to local wholesalers at a suitable price that would allow resident contractors their own traditional profits.
Since I was still trying to identify the five dead men at the Hesperides, I was interested in this competition. Appius agreed it could have been about ten years before. But there had only been two Numidians. Anyway, Appius had seen them a couple of times since, at the Emporium.
Graveyard of the Hesperides Page 22