Graveyard of the Hesperides

by Lindsey Davis

  Not them then.

  Another more minor issue, as Gavius told it, concerned attempts by a certain Arcadinus to undercut the trade in real stone in favor of cheaper painted mock marble, which he created. Arcadinus had made determined efforts to convince bar owners that painting was more fashionable, like putting fake garden designs on interior walls, or even outside in gardens. We had seen imitation marble at the Brown Toad, so at least one proprietor had fallen for it.

  “Gavius saw him off. Arcadinus packed up his little fancy paint pots and has never been back.”

  “But he was a one-man band?” I asked.

  “He sometimes had a little lad to mix his colors.”

  The bodies we found at the Garden of the Hesperides were certainly not a man and a boy. This was a red herring.

  “How exactly did Gavius deal with such rivals?”

  “Warned them off or froze them out.”

  “No violence?”

  “We are peaceable men. Besides, Gavius could sell a good deal to the clients, and he knew how to get in first. Newcomers could never push past us.”

  So was there any more recent trouble not yet mentioned? No, Appius said; there had been no competition for years. Gavius had it all sewn tight.

  “That won’t be what got him attacked then,” said Tiberius in a somber voice. His suddenly speaking made me jump.

  “He wanted to see me today,” I remembered. “Trypho told me.” I noticed Appius listening closely. I explained that our watchman had had an odd encounter. “Something upset Gavius. Trypho had talked to him about Old Thales’ dog being accidentally despatched by a barmaid called Rhodina. Does any of that resonate with you, Appius? When you saw him last night, did Gavius mention the guard dog dying?”

  Appius now spoke slowly, as if he was thinking. “He said Pudgy had been dug up again.”

  “Just a few bones. And possibly the barmaid too—in her case, most of her.” I decided not to mention her severed head.

  Even so, Appius blenched. He was pretty squeamish.

  I apologized. “I am sorry, that was too gruesome.”

  For a moment I thought we were getting nowhere, then Appius suddenly admitted that he did know why Gavius had been upset. “He told me in confidence.”

  “He’s dead, Appius,” I urged him gently. “And it may help find his killer.”

  Appius capitulated. Last night, Gavius had admitted something. Though unknown to him, his crew had known it all along: Gavius had had a soft spot for the beautiful Rhodina. They had palled up, even though she was officially the landlord’s girlfriend. Gavius thought Rhodina regarded him as a special friend in whom she could confide behind Old Thales’ back.

  When I was talking to him about Rufia, I remembered Gavius saying, “They had others there”; in retrospect, now I knew he had a fancy for one of the other staff, he had had a look in his eye. “Did he sleep with her?”

  “Everyone slept with her.”

  That was business. For obvious reasons, while she was bedding Thales, any real friendship with another man had to be kept a secret.

  “Did the rest of you reckon she saw Gavius as special?”

  “We thought it was one-sided.”

  “It would end in tears?”

  “The poor fellow was fooling himself.”

  Even so, Rhodina had confided in him. Gavius had known she was increasingly unhappy with Old Thales, Appius said. She talked about getting away. When Rhodina stopped serving at the Hesperides, Gavius assumed she had finally broken with the landlord. Then for ten years, Gavius meekly supposed she had upped and fled, without letting him know. He was hurt that she said nothing to him. Since nobody was supposed to know they were friends, there was nobody else he could talk to at the time about how upset he was. He simply accepted that she had not really liked him. He had been another part of her problems at the Ten Traders, someone else she must shake off. So he was conveniently dumped at the same time as Thales.

  Men and women do delude themselves in relationships. When one party cannot take any more pretense, the one clinging on has a shock.

  “Do you think Old Thales was aware Rhodina was close to someone?” I asked. Could her friendship with Gavius have caused what happened to her? “Was Thales jealous? He owned the bar; I expect he felt he owned the staff too. Could that be the real reason he quarreled with Gavius and threw your crew out of the Hesperides?”

  “We all believed it was,” said Appius. “We never said anything to Gavius. He was private. He would have hated to talk about it, especially since he thought Rhodina dumped him too. We looked after him, pretending not to notice, until he felt better. Until last night nobody ever mentioned her again. I was flummoxed when her name came up yesterday.”

  “And why did Gavius say he wanted to talk now? Because Rhodina was blamed by Thales for killing the dog?”

  “Oh no, he always knew that. It wasn’t the dog; it was your man telling him Rhodina was buried in the garden. You see, until then we all thought Thales was so keen, he had no reason to do anything to her. Even despite his dog dying. Of course,” said Appius, “Gavius being Gavius, he was upset that Pudgy choked. He didn’t blame Rhodina though. It made no difference to how he felt about her, though he could understand why Thales made a fuss. But last night your man told him Rhodina was dead and that got Gavius thinking.”

  “Ah!”

  “She was very good-looking.” Appius made this statement, then whistled and outlined with his hands a voluptuous figure. “Not a young girl, mind. She’d lived with other men. She even had family. And that was why Gavius became curious yesterday.”

  “Tell me.”

  One reason Gavius had believed Rhodina left the Ten Traders of her own accord was that she had two infant children. She was bringing them up by herself; they probably had different fathers. It had never been a secret; Thales knew, Gavius knew, everyone did. For convenience, she kept them in a more suitable room elsewhere, not at the bar. A minder looked after them while she was working. When Gavius went there looking for her, this woman at the lodging said the children were gone. They had been suddenly collected and taken away; the minder was as surprised as anyone. Nor did she know where they went.

  Until now, Gavius had always assumed the little ones were picked up by Rhodina herself, as she secretly escaped. But when Trypho had said her body was buried at the bar, he realized that could not be.

  So who took those children? And where were they now?

  XLVI

  We let Appius go off to the marble-suppliers’ guild.

  As Tiberius and I walked, I was thinking about who killed Rhodina, and why. And who attacked Gavius? Was it the same person? If so, it couldn’t be Old Thales. If Thales killed Rhodina, why would anybody else need to stop Gavius talking to me about it?

  I had no doubts the attack was meant to silence him. That meant whoever visited him knew about his plan to talk to me. How did the killer or killers find out? Appius had said nobody else joined them for supper. I would ask at the Brown Toad, where Trypho had seen Gavius go for a drink. Otherwise, he had a discussion with whoever came to his room, and that led to them killing him.

  That would mean they habitually carried a knife. In Rome arms were illegal—although, as elsewhere, many in the High Footpath region ignored that. I had a “fruit knife” myself. In case I needed to slice up an apple, of course, your honor.

  *

  I started to discuss this with Tiberius, pacing so silently beside me. “The big problem is who now benefits from having Gavius dead—”

  “No, stop!” he exclaimed. I was half prepared for it. I had noticed he was oddly introspective. His pace quickened, as if he had decided on a new destination. His expression became more open with me.

  “What’s up, Aedile?”

  “I have to go back to the mews. I promised I would return to talk to the doctor after he finished. Then I need to explain something to the parents…”

  “The doctor will be still there? What are you keeping from me?
You examined the body—and you took your time, don’t think I never noticed. Did you see something? A clue?”

  “You could say that.” Tiberius took my hand as we walked, then he explained. “Gavius was punched in the neck with a blade. Blood would have flowed straight away. He may have stumbled, he probably fell down. At that point I imagine the dogs became very excited. The attacker might have felt it imperative to get away from the dogs before they went for him. Because of the blood, it would have looked as if Gavius was already dead.”

  “But…?” I was already guessing where this would lead.

  “The wound was not arterial; that would have been quickly fatal. The weapon must have missed the crucial spot … This is why I sent so urgently for the doctor. I didn’t want false hopes for the parents—that would be cruel. But the doctor is going to work on him—”

  “You mean—”

  “Perhaps he can be revived, brought back, saved. He was still warm. I thought I felt a pulse. When I first looked at him, Gavius was still alive.”

  XLVII

  I gathered my skirts so I could walk as fast as Tiberius; we hurried back to Mucky Mule Mews. Passing through the gawpers, we applied solemn expressions as if we had a further formality to carry out and reentered Gavius’ home. There, the doctor told us the “dead man” was still breathing even now. The wound had been dressed. With attention, the medico thought Gavius might be saved, though it was not certain. We swore him to secrecy, then paid him off.

  The plan Tiberius had was to quickly tell the parents, but nobody else. For one thing, he did not want a killer returning to finish the job. He also felt it might be useful to let any assailant believe the attack had succeeded.

  Tiberius discovered there was a narrow walkway behind the buildings here. He went by himself while I sat with the patient. I dreaded to think what an alley behind Mucky Mule Mews was like but it allowed Tiberius to pick his way along, unseen, in order to fetch Gavius’ mother and father. With instructions from the doctor, they would secretly tend their boy. They were a devoted family and he was physically strong. If he recovered enough to talk, they would send us a message.

  We installed the parents as nurses, then we left; this time we did go back to the Vicus Longus.

  *

  It was still morning, though after such emotional upheaval it felt as if hours had passed. By mutual agreement, we went straight to the Brown Toad. One of the boy-girls was outside with a hand mirror, applying more Egyptian-mummy eyeliner. He-she called out lewd overtures to me, then when that failed tried Tiberius—even more of a mistake.

  “Shut up and show me your registration, please.”

  “What?”

  “When you first took up your degrading profession, you should have put yourself on the prostitutes’ roll. I am a plebeian aedile, you just propositioned me. I never screw illegals. I want to inspect your certificate.”

  The pretty thing jumped up and fled with a string of curses.

  I gazed at my bridegroom. “If he had been legal, would screwing be considered?”

  “Just talk.”

  I left the officious Manlius Faustus on the bench outside, ready to harass members of the public; now he had started being doctrinaire, he needed to work it out of his system. He was in a starchy mood because of what happened to Gavius.

  The lethargic waitress drooped out from the bar, to offer him a free drink. She must have overheard who he was. Tiberius asked for a jug of water. She was too limp even to look scandalized.

  I passed indoors where, as I expected, Gran was rustling up today’s big cauldron of “staff” hot pot. “You’re too early! Give me a chance, girl.” Since I knew she was grandma to Gavius, Tiberius’ plan of secrecy was putting me in a tricky position. I put off telling her.

  I squashed myself neatly on a stool, keeping out of her way. I had been in a grandmother’s kitchen while she knocked up dishes; I had been trained by many backhanded flips not to be a nuisance as a busy woman worked.

  “Himself is outside,” I warned her.

  “The girl will look after him.”

  “Not his type.”

  “Oh I remember. You think you are! Remember, if you can get through the wedding, you can get through life … When’s the big day now?”

  “Two days’ time.” I managed to say it without shuddering.

  “Better get a move on then,” she commented frankly. She was a true grandmother. “If you really intend solving whose those old bones are.”

  “Don’t nag, Gran. I’m not messing about. I will solve it. And I’ll discover who put them there. Listen, I only meant let’s pretend that gorgeous tripe you’re braising is some variety of pulse, shall we?”

  The gran gave me a shirty look. She knew the rules; she knew how to get around them, too, but today she wasn’t going to give in quietly. “Now let me see. Pulses—what could that be? Beans? Kidney or broad, what’s your fancy? Black, white, green, red, speckled or stripey as a duck’s arse? I could do you peas, chickpeas, lentils, millet, barley, oats, vetch or lupins? No, I’m not inflicting lupins on anyone. That’s donkey food. Seeds? Nuts? Walnuts, pine kernels, almonds…?”

  “Cobnuts. Enough!” I cried. “Bloody hell, Gran. That’s a market wholesaler’s catalog.”

  She sniffed. There must be special lessons in being offended yet triumphant, lessons you can have when you are seventy-five and stroppy with it.

  “What is it really?”

  “What is what?”

  I knew that game. “You know. The tripe?”

  “Liver.”

  “Yum.”

  “Everyone likes a bit of comfort food. I never use a recipe, I just put onions and a bit of pearl barley into everything. Sometimes I do liver, sometimes kidney. I like to put a pastry lid on kidneys. I don’t enjoy cooking all the kinds of offal. Udders, stomachs—you can keep those. I feel funny if I have to handle brains.” After this speech, she continued rapidly chopping shallots. Her knife was an old, heavy, wide, wooden-handled one. Luckily I knew Gavius was hurt with a slim blade or I would have wondered whether the attack on him was a family affair.

  “I’m drooling. I can wait a bit. Liver will just need a fast flash in the pan … I can’t keep calling you Gran. What’s your real name?”

  “Everyone calls me Gran. What makes you so special, young woman?” I wanted to keep talking like this, to be nostalgic. What with the wedding, I must be missing my own grandmothers. She may have sensed my sadness, for she softened, as they do. “It’s Prisca.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the honor.”

  I gazed at her. She paused in her vigorous chopping. We understood each other. She realized I had something to tell her.

  “Prisca, I am very sorry, I have something bad to say.”

  She laid down the knife gently, wiping her hands on her skirts. These were small, formal preparations so she was decently ready. “Who died?” At her age, there was only one sorry message that solemn people brought to you.

  Awkwardly deferring the moment, I asked slowly, “Did you see Gavius here last night?”

  “Who’s gone for our Gavius? Is it him then?” She was upset, though perhaps not entirely surprised, I thought. “What happened?”

  “Did you see him when he came over?” She had seen him when he first realized Rhodina had been killed. I had to treat her as a significant witness, press her for her story before she knew what had happened to him.

  “I might have been in here, just taking a tot for my arthritis. No harm in that.”

  “Little warming drink. Helps you sleep despite the pain. At your time of life, you deserve it, Prisca.” I had been properly instructed in senior people’s rights. “So, tell me. When he came across from the Hesperides, all upset, did he say anything to you? His old grandma?”

  “Of course. He’s a big enough lump now, but I used to wipe his little pink arse. He can’t keep much from me.”

  “The story about Rhodina, the one-time barmaid? The one the men all hankered after?”
<
br />   “Yes. I got that out of him.”

  “Tell me exactly what he said, Gran. This is important. He talked to his mate, his backup in the business, Appius—”

  “I know Appius. Get a move on. What’s happened to my Gavius?” She had not forgotten my threat of bad news.

  “You guessed, Gran. I am sorry to be the one who has to tell you.”

  “Albia, stop messing with me.”

  Obediently I told her. “He was attacked. Someone went to his house last evening. He let them in. They stabbed him in the neck. We found him lying on the floor a little while ago.”

  “He’s dead?”

  It was no good. I had to ease Prisca’s misery. If it was bad enough for parents to lose children in their lifetime, how was it for a grandparent? Prisca spoke of Gavius as a favorite. So I told her he was in great danger but we needed to pretend he was actually dead.

  “I’ll have to go and see him.”

  “No, Gran. His parents will look after him. This is for his safety while they try to save him. Just make sure everyone knows you’re heartbroken.”

  She was silent, resisting me, then she burst out instead: “Were those dogs with him?”

  “Going crazy.”

  “Who’s got his dogs? All he would care about would be the dogs.”

  “His parents have all three, at least temporarily. I suspect Appius will help sort something out. The men are all devastated … I’m doing what I can to discover who attacked him. So now can you tell me, please, what Gavius said to you.”

  She set about it, an efficient storyteller. It was identical to what Appius had said, though flavored with sneers about her grandson’s foolish fancy for Rhodina. “I forgot all about her years ago, but when he said it, I remembered. I didn’t think much of her. Flirty, bosomy little piece. I can tell he really wanted her—and he never bothered with anyone afterward. I thought our boy had a lucky escape there. You want to know about the barmaid? If you ask me, that one was only interested in finding some man soft enough to be conned into bringing up her children. That Rhodina. She was one of those types, you know—a man only had to wink at her and she fell pregnant. Of course that wasn’t her fault. Some women just can’t help conceiving.”