Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

If Rhodina was bright, she might have used her pregnancy for manipulation. For her, this baby could have seemed an opportunity to give her family and herself a better life. From what I had heard about her, that was a real possibility.

I now felt there were two aspects to this inquiry. Perhaps they were unrelated. One was the tempestuous Thales/Rufia/Rhodina triangle. I considered Gavius, too, but reckoned he had been merely on the sidelines of the main tragedy.

The other mystery was the five men who died. Their identities remained as unknown as the day we uncovered their skeletons. They could have been from the east, but that might be wide of the mark. I had discovered no clues to their identities, nor could I say why someone had methodically deleted all five from earthly existence.

The second question would have to wait until I turned up something I could bite on. On the first, little by little, as I massaged potential witnesses, I had come to know the characters involved. That helped suggest motives. Motives helped me see what to tackle next.

I knew what I wanted to explore: the inheritance. When I discussed it with Tiberius before, it had not seemed necessarily significant. How much money did Liberalis have, and what proportion of it derived from Thales? I remembered saying I could find out via the amount of tax he had paid on his legacy, at which Tiberius had cynically guffawed. But there was a way to check more accurately. Never mind the tax; I needed Thales’ will.

I was ready to leave Silvinus, but on the off chance I asked, “You conduct most funerals around the High Footpath, you said? So did you happen to send off Old Thales to his gods? The landlord of the Hesperides?”

“I did.”

“Oh! Can you remember when it was? The new landlord told my partner it happened about six months ago-I’d like to have a more exact date, if possible.” I decided to explain why; Silvinus was a fellow professional. “I am hoping to track down his will-if they deposited a copy in the archives as they should have. I think he must have had one, because of giving the bar to Julius Liberalis.”

“He did. I heard them read it.”

“Oh wonderful!”

Silvinus was such a very useful witness, informed and willing to volunteer information; he made a pleasant change. “They didn’t bother waiting the nine days of formal mourning,” he said.

“Liberalis was bursting for confirmation the bar was his. He told me that he was the only obvious legatee. That might explain the rush.”

“If he was sure he would get it, why did he seem so anxious?” mused Silvinus. “It felt as if he was afraid there might be rival contenders.”

“Were they at the funeral?”

“No. By the time Liberalis was appointed executor and sole heir, he was the last man standing.”

“He often seems nervous. He had waited a long time for the bar, so perhaps he just needed formal reassurance … You were invited to the will reading?”

Silvinus grinned. “Not exactly ‘invited.’ After we burned Thales, they had a get-together back at the bar. I am a little bit nosy, I’m afraid. I made sure I tagged along.”

“Well-practiced!” I smiled back.

“Of course. Supervising a pyre is thirsty work. I do feel people want to be appreciative if you take care of their loved ones. Even if they forget to ask me, I assume they meant to.”

“You could save me a very time-consuming trip to the Atrium of Liberty.” Copies of executed wills are supposed to be archived, in case the original is ever lost. But people can deposit them anywhere suitable, in temples for instance. I had been caught out before through not knowing the right place to look. Sometimes I don’t want to ask the parties involved.

“I can tell you everything!” Boasting, Silvinus looked as if he was wondering what it was worth to me. We were getting on so well, why spoil it? I had no wish to find out that his idea of payment was something other than coinage.

“Spill then!” I urged, pretending to be taken up with excitement, brushing aside any ideas he had. “Oh, this is so good, Silvinus!” I sounded like Julia and Favonia with a new wheeze. “Liberalis was given the bar. What interests me is whether there was more to pass on to him? I don’t know whether he had any money to start with-or even whether Thales was financially sound, come to that?”

Silvinus let himself be overcome with the fine joy of sharing knowledge. “Julius Liberalis was left enough to pay for a big funeral, with endless trays of stuffed vine leaves afterward for a large section of the neighborhood.”

“Thales was very popular? There were a lot of mourners?”

“He was and there were.”

“Well, I daresay when a bar owner dies, even people who never patronized his place suddenly feel a great fondness for him and want to raise a free wine cup … Was it your first visit? Did you drink there normally?”

“No. A lot of my work takes place at night.” Funerals have to happen after dark. “By the time we get back from the necropolis afterward, put away the equipment and lock up, all I want is my bed. But I went to that wake and I was surprised. Thales owned a big place. No wonder Liberalis was so keen to have it.”

“What did Thales die of?” I shot in, suddenly wondering. So far nobody in my investigation had mentioned it, but his undertaker would know.

Silvinus enjoyed telling me. “Age, drink, overeating, shoddy living. Wine, women and song, or as we define it in the trade, natural causes.”

“His time had come?” I was glad to hear at least one person in the Ten Traders managed to pass away in non-suspicious circumstances. “And tell me, Silvinus, apart from the bar itself and the price of a good funeral, did he leave a pile? Was he very wealthy?”

Once again my informant took huge pleasure in his revelation: “You mean, Flavia Albia, in addition to the premises and profits-plus his gains from gambling?”

“ Gambling? ” That was a new side to his character. “Old Thales was a gambler? Successful with his bets?”

Silvinus shook his head; I had misunderstood. “I expect he did place the occasional wager. I am not talking about that. Of course they keep it very quiet, but the Garden of the Hesperides has always had a secret reputation-at least so people tell me-for serious illegal betting. People came long distances on special nights. A hard core of regulars. I suppose Thales allowed it, always on the basis that he took a cut.”

I blinked. “Let me guess. Legitimate food and drink sales are out front at the counters; fornication goes on in the rooms upstairs-meanwhile the boards are set up and the gambling occurs privately in the courtyard at the back?” Silvinus pretended that a man like him, who liked an early night at home, could not possibly know. “Pull a curtain across the corridor and it’s out of sight from the street,” I continued. “Being in the garden gives them time to drop any evidence into a bucket if someone whistles that the law is coming. The vigiles walk in, only to find them all daintily picking at olive bowls.”

“That is assuming the law do not engage in bets like everyone else, Flavia Albia.”

“Of course they love it.” That is why you never see any court cases on the subject. There are even board games scratched onto the steps of the Basilica Julia. Quite often it’s barristers playing, with decrepit old judges leaning in to watch.

I remembered the year the Flavian Amphitheater opened, that long city party with its hundred days of games; it was also a hundred-day-long excuse to make the whole of Rome a gigantic betting ring. Thales must have pulled in lucre by the sack-load. If there was ever a year when he would have done so well it created envy, that was it. The only surprise was that Old Thales survived and was not himself buried deep against the boundary wall.