Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

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.

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?