Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

I felt distressed for Tiberius. He had lost time on his job here while his men too would be upset to see this carnage. I would have sat down and sobbed but, to complete the mess, all the old bar furniture lay scattered and smashed.

The message was clear. This was not casual mucking about by local menaces. It was crude, deliberate and shocking. Yet ultimately it seemed pointless. Whoever had done this intended to warn us to stop our investigation. All they had really achieved was to advertise that questions were worth asking. And I now believed the perpetrators of the old crime were still in this locality.

Some criminals have no idea that all they have to do is nothing. Lie low, and if there was never evidence in the first place, no more will appear.

Start sending messages, and we will know interested parties are definitely out there.

I was angry and anxious. Then, just when I was making attempts to tidy the broken benches, someone else arrived, coincidentally adding to our problems.

It was a couple who looked very out of place in this area. They turned up in a hired litter, which they kept waiting, ready for a fast exit. They were not hopelessly imagining they could buy drinks; they had come here on a mission. She told me she was looking for her brother, Tiberius Manlius. Oh dear. Our wedding guests had begun to arrive.

For her big visit to the city, Fania Faustina was wearing white, with modest jewels. When she was younger, people must have told her she had a sweet nature, on which she still traded, though she was losing it more every day. That was due to her husband, by name Antistius. He was in a brown tunic, accessorised with bumptiousness. Nobody could ever have called him sweet.

“This is a monumental mess!” He surveyed the scene superciliously. “I didn’t expect Faustus to have much idea, but it’s a lot worse than I imagined!”

Manlius Faustus was right. His brother-in-law was detestable.

I brushed down my skirts. Dusty and flustered, there was no chance that I looked a convincing bride for an aedile, but I had to introduce myself. I watched my bridegroom’s sister wondering whether she ought to kiss me, then she decided it was not yet called for. That caused relief on both sides.

Since there was nowhere to sit, we stood around awkwardly. My new in-laws explained they had arrived that day with others in their party whom they had left with Uncle Tullius, though they were hoping Tiberius was intending to house them all somewhere else, in view of Aunt Valeria’s rigid antipathy to his uncle. Thanks to my sisters, I knew about that. I was able to express sympathy, though I pretended I was unsure what the alternative plans were …

I did know my mother had been hoping this influx of strangers would not happen so soon. She had tried to convince herself only the austere aunt who loathed Tullius would request somewhere else to stay. Aunts were absorbed into our household whatever they were like, but I could picture my father’s expression when exposed to Antistius.

These country folk had wasted no time. As soon as they hit Rome, in between eagerly searching for Tiberius, they had managed to acquire at enormous expense (they told me) many tickets for a cithara recital by a famous musician, the fabulous Stertinius, to which everyone was now invited as their contribution to the wedding celebrations. They thought it was a fine way to meet my family. My mother would agree politely, though again, I feared what Falco would say.

I had heard of the popular lyre player, but no one I knew would have gone to hear him. I had no idea how Tiberius would view being made to sit through a public concert by a musician of the moment, without any warning, at the end of an extremely long and physically exacting day. With the bar’s destruction, his day had become much worse than he yet knew.

“We tried to find my brother at his new house, where we had been assured he was, but nobody answered when we called,” said his sister, sounding peevish.

“Well, that’s builders for you.” I shrugged.

“We were definitely informed he would be there,” her husband complained, in high irritation. “I don’t know how long we stood in the street banging at the doors.”

Not only Tiberius, but all his workforce ought to be at the house now. I had a sudden inkling that he had looked discreetly through a grille, could not bear to face the brother-in-law, so told the workmen to stay quiet while he hid inside … “Are our doors beautifully painted now?” I asked serenely. “Tiberius has gone to endless trouble choosing the color scheme…”

“That’s hardly the point,” Antistius growled.

Until now I had not felt domestic, but I found myself hoping these visitors had not touched our doors while they were wet and permanently smudged them with fingermarks. It would be sickening to remember Antistius every time I got out my door key.

Nevertheless, I knew what I must do. I smiled as if I meant it, gushing how thrilled we would be to go to the sought-after concert by the extremely famous cithara player. I can be charming. My mother taught me. If you can act, it is easy, at least with people who have never met you before.

Luckily we were all distracted then. I had misjudged Trypho, our night watchman, when I assumed he had not been on guard. Now he hove into view, limping down the street, with blood all over him. Ignoring my future relatives with a fine sense of who mattered, he told me that he had found an intruder wrecking the works, so he had beaten up the man, then chased him off.

“What did he look like? Will you know him again, Trypho?”

“He’ll have a smashed nose. You bet I will.”

“Good. Come and be mopped up. Fania Faustina, do please excuse me while I attend to this emergency in your brother’s absence…”

It would have been good to think my new in-laws were impressed by the competence and composure of the bride who was joining their family. But they just made it an excuse to scamper into their litter, then order its bearers to hare off.

It is generally accepted that the cithara is an extremely demanding instrument. To most people that means it is difficult to play. Even those who adore its softly stroked strings in the hands of a skilled performer may find themselves in a situation where enduring the music is hard. I mean, when dragged to a concert by people you don’t know.

At least a promised couple can sit together and discreetly hold hands. If Tiberius began dozing, I could squeeze his paw to keep him more or less awake. If my head lolled upon his shoulder, he could shake me upright.

It started not too badly, as we were preoccupied by disrupting everyone else while we took our seats. Originally we were even joined by Uncle Tullius; his niece and family did not omit inviting their host. However, Tullius took one horrified look at the stairs we were to climb, then beetled off to buy himself another ticket; he ensconced himself among the business community in their excellent seats lower down and we never saw him again all night. Everyone else was slightly relieved.

Fania Faustina thought my sisters were lovely. Her husband too was giving them the eye. Julia and Favonia pretended not to have noticed, though there would be a lot of giggling back at home in private. For now, their whispered discussion was all about ghastly young men in the audience.

My mother clearly felt Tiberius’ Aunt Valeria was sensible and not half as tricky as she had been painted. Shawled up and reeking of liniment, Valeria knew when to fetter her bile; she could play the sweet old lady, she just didn’t believe in doing it. She had managed to win my parents’ good opinion so tomorrow she could shuttle to their house. She did foolishly say she could only stomach a little light gruel for breakfast, to which Mother responded gaily that mornings were casual at our house. Auntie Valeria was welcome to visit the kitchen and brew up her own gruel just the way she liked it.