Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

I snorted mildly. “I don’t think he was that kind of landlord. But his bar was well-ordered. We know he had the no-nonsense Rufia to stop trouble-she sounds as if she would have kicked him into action if mayhem started.”

“Ah, that kind of woman!” murmured Tiberius gently, as if to no one in particular.

I shot him a cool glance. “If he didn’t himself arrange the attack, who could the antagonists be-people that Thales was scared to interfere with and too frightened of even to report their crime afterward?”

“Soldiers?” suggested Tiberius.

“Serving soldiers would have been missed. Absconding from the army is one crime that does get taken seriously. Especially if it happened in Rome, which is awash with units who could look for deserters.”

“So the victims shared some trade, physical though not extremely hard by the look of their bones? Thales either was so scared of the killers, or so closely in league with them, he allowed them to fill his yard with corpses. He must have agreed to these burials. The killers must have relied on him keeping the graves secret, especially making sure afterward that nobody dug up anything accidentally.”

“Now he’s dead, the killers have lost their security. Do you think they know he’s gone?”

Tiberius lifted his shoulders, saying, “If they are anywhere local, they must find out now. They will hear that we have the bodies, so the authorities will be looking for perpetrators.”

I chortled. “If they hear the vigiles came down here to reconnoiter, and danced off for a drink, they may not be too worried!”

Tiberius returned a rueful look. “So will they realize that you and I are investigating instead?”

I reckoned it was safer for us if they didn’t find out our track record. “Darling, I’d like to think I have a reputation as a dogged inquirer and you as a meticulous magistrate-but luckily on the Viminal we are neither of us known. Here you are merely the building contractor and I am-”

“The contractor’s sparky wife!”

He enjoyed being able to say that. Fortunately, I never felt diminished; he saw us as an equal partnership. In fact, he viewed me as essential. We two would, in every respect, jointly run our family business. The reason I loved Tiberius was that he had never envisaged anything else.

Our foreman, Larcius, came into the courtyard, quietly waiting until we were ready for him. He had been off and found a local undertaker to collect the bones. There were too many, and it was all too public, for us to simply shunt them into a big hole somewhere. Besides, no aedile-well, not this aedile-could be so impious.

Tiberius gave instructions that the skeletons were to be kept for a time, in case our inquiries necessitated further inspection. Besides, we liked to be hopeful. We wanted to believe we could identify the dead, giving us a chance to allow their relatives to hold funerals.

The undertaker’s cart came. One by one, the collection was lifted and taken away. It was now so late we saw off the bones by lamplight. Then, finally, the courtyard at the Garden of the Hesperides lay in darkness, deserted and empty.

Tiberius and I went for a light supper. On our way down the street we passed the vigiles, still gathered at the Romulus. We did not join them.

I noticed they were quiet enough. Those who were having drinks either leaned an arm on the bar counter in twos and threes, pecking at snacks and casually talking, or sat in loose groups at tables. Two had called for the draftboard.

The other customers, there and at similar places we passed, were behaving in the same relaxed way. None seemed drunk. None were loud. Certainly no one was fighting.

People were here because most had no cooking facilities at home. At least it cut down the number of house fires. But people need to eat. They come out to streetside eateries and either tuck in with company or take food home and get blamed by the family for forgetting to bring fish pickle. This is daily life in Rome.

For some reason I found myself thinking about home-oops, Londinium. As I remembered, social behavior was much the same, except that British bars were just so cold, dark and grim that more people bought takeaway food-ooh, look, it’s exotic Roman turnips. They then rushed home to eat these treasures, thinking it was civilized. Also, more people than here cooked at home as their ancestors had done, brewing up nettle broths on tiny hearths; even with experience they were still capable of burning down their horrid huts. Londinium always had the smell of damp smoke. It could be a bath furnace. It could be manufacturing. It could be a bakery ablaze. Or it could just be Ungulandivericundius warming up some pigs’ trotters.

Here, the bars with marble counters were where the majority routinely ate. It was easily warm enough to stand outside, indeed, too warm not to. Either I was mistaken about the ominous mood last night when I looked out from our room, or this was a quiet evening, or it was simply too early for trouble. Sometimes street violence flares in waves then for no obvious reason dies down. Maybe this was a lull.

Now I began thinking about the night Rufia disappeared and those men were murdered. It could have coincided with a big holiday. There were many in the calendar, as my sisters had found when choosing my wedding day. A religious parade, the gladiatorial games, theater. Oh, all right, everyone ignores drama. So say it was religion or the arena, the staples of Roman entertainment. Harder drinking, wilder festivity. But nobody so far had mentioned a festival in connection with Rufia. If the barmaid had vanished on such a particular night, it would have lingered in the memory, surely? Artemisia and Orchivia had said it was the year the Amphitheater was consecrated, but the games held for that went on for over a hundred days, which did not really help me.

I talked about this with Tiberius while we were still strolling, before we identified a caupona we liked the look of. In a strange area it’s always tricky. We never went into anywhere that had no visible customers, nor anywhere that was throbbing. This one had a few people but some empty places at tables inside. It turned out to be run by a woman. I have no reason to think that was significant-though I found it pleasing.

She was neat and capable. Her helper was a boy of about twelve, presumably her son. She served a decent house red, with a jug of cold water and honey too, then offered us a stew of hot lentils with celery. So she even obeyed the food laws that stipulated no meat. Tiberius Manlius complimented her on that, though did not say he was a magistrate.

He muttered to me that it was so well-run, he could not imagine this caupona could ever be a haven for political conspiracy (the daft idea was that by only serving pulses, plotters against the government would be discouraged from gathering to eat out). I smiled, privately thinking that the neat domina and her apparently law-abiding place would provide the perfect cover for fomenting threats against the Emperor. No one would suspect her.

I said nothing. I had yet to ascertain whether the man I was marrying would approve if Domitian were assassinated.

I stopped thinking about that. Even to dream of removing our tyrant was dangerous. I looked around at the other customers nervously. Domitian had spies who could sniff out your private thoughts, even in a haze of lentil steam.

* * *

We ate a quiet meal. As we paid, I asked the hostess whether she knew anything about the Hesperides. She claimed not to. Maybe it was too far along the street. Certainly, she was reluctant to gossip.

This was a different kind of establishment. No fornication rooms upstairs. The woman and her son probably lived there, but they kept their own space private. Her clientele were local couples, families she had known for years, passing workers who bucked the trend by wanting breakfast and dinner somewhere congenial and clean.