Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

Returning to the corridor that led back indoors, I spotted a narrow staircase. It must lead to the upstairs rooms where customers obtained “extras.” It was steep and dark, with dirty treads and dusty walls. Pulling my skirts in, I climbed up to explore. Three curtained doorways clustered around a top landing that was fit only for mountain goats. With no natural light, it was barely negotiable. I banged my head on a suspended phallic lamp. That would help at night, and gave a clue as to what went on here, although no one but an idiot would blunder up accidentally. Still, idiots do go to bars.

Poking back the first spidery curtain, I found a bare cubicle with an unmade single bed. No surprise. There was no other furniture. No hospitality tray (I jest), not even a chamber pot. As a bower of delight it was crude, though much as I expected.

“Five star!” I exclaimed out loud, sarcastically allocating the kind of mansio grade you see on high-class traveling maps. I did not suppose many high-class travelers ever found their way to the Hesperides, but strangers in a city can make mistakes. Well, who hasn’t accidentally wandered into a den of sin when merely looking for a quiet chickpea supper?

As I turned to investigate the other two rooms, I received a shock that nearly made me tumble downstairs. Somebody was there.

“Hades!” I was scared, I admit.

A man in a one-armed unbelted tunic had stuck his head out of a room, looking to see who I was. The occupant of the other room zipped back his door curtain too; he was naked. He had an extremely hairy chest; I tried not to look any lower down. I fancied I heard females in the background, though with these narrow doorways people inside the rooms were hidden. Judging by how the two men looked, anyone they had lured in here could not be picky.

Though startled, I managed to accost them: “Nipius and Natalis, I presume? You work here when the bar is open? Well, I am Flavia Albia, looking into the unpleasant finds the workmen dug up yesterday. I suggest you both put your clothes on straight away, and come downstairs to help with my inquiries!”

By the time they sloped down to the courtyard, I was sitting down, looking cool. Being enthroned while others stand is a sign of superiority in Rome, though waiters never subscribe to such etiquette. A waiter can be lying on the dirty ground pushing a wedge under a wobbly table leg, but he will still behave as if you are an upstart slave, unreasonably complaining, whereas he is of royal birth. You can stand up, sit down or cavort like a dolphin with hiccups, but you won’t obtain respect. All waiters in any establishment occupy the position of power. Julius Caesar must have had his nose put out of joint every time he fancied a half flagon of house red while he was out shopping.

All right. I concede that old pomposity Caesar may never have nipped out for an onion-not even to gain a few minutes’ peace from Calpurnia’s nagging him about her dreams.

Nipius and Natalis gave me their What do you mean, you expect faster service? faces. They had been waiting at tables so long, it was their first line of defense.

“So!” I positioned my note tablet on one knee, stylus in hand, fully composed. “Which of you is which?”

Grudgingly, they told me. In daylight, I was looking at two semi-mature cheeses. Not exactly cave-ripened until their fine flavor knocked your head off, but they were theoretically old enough to have been here when Rufia was on the payroll. Both were easily twenty-five and probably more, so by my very rough timeline they would have been lads in their first employment. Nipius was taller, with joined-up eyebrows and pustules. Natalis was heavier with only half as many spots, the hero with the chest fur; its wiry black hairs were peeking now over the neck of his crumpled workwear. It would be the only tunic he had, clearly bought when he was slimmer. He was no advert for bar snacks.

They were in similar green tunics, like a uniform; Natalis had put ragged brown braid on the hem of his. At least, he’d persuaded some girlfriend to do it. Nipius expressed whatever personality he possessed via a piece of string around his neck, from which dangled a big pebble with a hole in it. He must have expensive tastes. Natalis had probably learned that a necklace would snag in his chest hair so he wore copper bracelets instead. He had had them so long he didn’t notice the verdigris.

I decided I wouldn’t trust either of these scallywags to serve up the drink I had asked for or to remember my complimentary pistachios. Nor would they would go back for the nuts, even on the third time of reminding. But I bet they would still demand a tip. They gave the impression they might be aggressive about it.

I could see that, in the way of waiters, they were wondering if there was any point trying to flirt. I gave them the frosty treatment. “I am doing this for Manlius Faustus, the contractor. He is a magistrate, a busy man, and he is my fiance. I shall take down your story, then see what he wants to do about you.” There could be no harm suggesting they might find themselves in trouble. “You both work at the Hesperides when it is open? How long have you been here?”

They confirmed that they had started as lads. “So you knew the barmaid called Rufia?” They gave me the common verdict: everyone knew Rufia.

“What was she like?” They looked vague. I tried specific questions, which worked better. Rufia was the normal height and build for a waitress, with no special characteristics. “Black eyes? Brown eyes? Skinny or curvaceous? Did she nick olives out of the customers’ titbit bowls? Would she commandeer all the tips?” This got me nowhere further. Anyone would think that when ordering the dish of the day, I had asked if the chef could leave out the oregano. “Nipius and Natalis, either you are utterly unobservant, or you’re playing up. If she was a customer, I would expect you to say, ‘We see so many, we can’t remember’-but Olympus, you worked with this woman!”

Possibly they looked shamefaced.

“Right, you hopeless pair. Tell me what happened when she disappeared. Her duties must have fallen on you, so please don’t pretend you knew nothing about it.”

They stared. I glared. They decided they had better say something or I might become cantankerous. Wise boys. They were the kind who would make sure they never looked your way when you signaled for your bill; still, when someone finally grew angry, they deigned to notice. (You don’t believe bar staff accidentally fail to meet your eye?) “We just came in one morning and she was no longer here.”

“What did the landlord say?”

“Only ‘the bitch isn’t here’ and that we had to cover for her.”

“Was that how he always described her?”

“Nothing unusual.”

“Old Thales sounds unpleasant!”

“He was a normal landlord.” Every time Natalis spoke to me, he looked shiftier.

“Really?”

“Yes, he really thought himself special-though he wasn’t,” Nipius told me with some venom, fiddling with his pebble necklace.

“Expand, Nipius.”

“Thales was a bully and a bore. He traded on his reputation.”

“Which was?”

“Being a wonderful character.”

“I’ve met some of those!”

“He just hung around cadging drinks off the customers.”

“He had a horrible laugh!” This detail from Natalis, the one with the bracelets, came unexpectedly. “And what he laughed at was usually not funny.”

“How was he with his staff?” The waiters hung back from answering. “Grabby?” I guessed.

“There was a whole lot more than grabbing,” grumbled Nipius. I felt unsurprised.

“Only the women?”