Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

“No. No, she hasn’t come.”

“But you knew she is in Rome?”

“Well, I heard a little whisper when I was out buying a few provisions…” Annina looked relieved that I knew.

“You liked her,” I suggested. “You kept her room for her, in case she came back. You knew all the time that she was still alive?”

She pursed her lips, then admitted, “Yes.”

“Did everyone know?”

“Oh no! No, they all thought she was under the courtyard.”

“That was what Rufia wanted them to think?”

“I suppose so.”

“And presumably she came and fetched her stuff that night? All her things? And I suppose her money?” I had guessed right, because Annina silently nodded.

I looked at her, perhaps reproachfully. Then she came out with the story: “She rushed in, saying she was going away, but pleading with me not to tell anyone. One of the mule-drovers was waiting outside with a couple of beasts-”

“Which drover?”

“I was indoors, I never saw him. She carried down her luggage and a lot of leather bags, money bags, I was certain. Then she let out a cry of relief-‘All done, we’ll be off now! Thanks for everything. Remember, you never saw me!’-and she rushed away.”

“Where was she going? Do you know where she has spent these ten years?”

“No.”

If Rufia wanted people to think her dead, of course she would not leave a forwarding address. “Somebody must have been told how to contact her,” I insisted. “Here she is, back after all this time, and it cannot be coincidence. She came because of what we have uncovered at the bar. Somebody sent a message.”

“Menendra perhaps? Rufia left her in charge of her little business.”

“She can’t have wanted to come. She looks old. Very infirm.”

“Well, she would be by now. Age wouldn’t stop her though. That one will be busy till she drops.”

Would she be busy killing people? I wondered if there were any more bars with skeletons under their sit-out patios. “So why do you think she did a moonlight flit?”

“Had enough of Thales? Wanted a fresh start? I don’t know, we didn’t talk about it. She was in a hurry. She just told me she was leaving, and please never to tell anybody.”

“Which you didn’t.”

“No. I can keep a secret. Anyway, no one ever asked.”

I smiled reassuringly, turning to go. At that point, Annina had a thought. Her mind must be so much on her son’s condition, she was forgetting things, even things that mattered. “He thought they were Egyptians!”

“What?”

“Gavius. He must have been delirious. I asked, ‘Have you anything to tell Flavia Albia, son?’ He murmured back, ‘I saw them going in. They were all Egyptians.’ Straight away he dozed off again, though he looked more peaceful, as if he thought he had said something important. Only that doesn’t make sense, does it?” Annina quavered.

Maybe not. Not if you thought Gavius was talking about when he was attacked in his home. But it made every sense if he really meant the night those murders happened at the bar.

When I left and walked back down the alley, as I passed the parents’ house I did look up at Rufia’s old room. It was not yet dark so there would be no lamp lit; I saw no sign of life at all. Mind you, the old woman I had glimpsed struggling on two sticks would find those narrow stairs too hard. Her time of serving customers in rooms above bars must be long over. All she would manage nowadays was organizing others to do it.

Tiberius had said he would not come back that evening. He had too much to finish at the house, and he would visit the aediles’ office, his last duty call before the wedding. I bought some cold sausage, Lucanian, and a few pickles for a private supper in our room. I went for ablutions, considering whether to walk down to the great new Baths of Titus. An imperial edifice might be run more hygienically than the local pit here. But it was almost as far as the Forum. The day had become ominously sultry. I would only grow hot and sticky again walking back; besides, I was in no mood for the evening crowds.

Enduring a fast scrape and splash at the local baths nearby, I changed into my last clean tunic. Well, it was passable once I turned it inside out. I ate my solitary meal, then sat combing my hair dry. Here by myself, it struck me how much I felt the silence. At Fountain Court I was once so used to it, I never noticed. Now Tiberius lived with me there, a friendly presence even if he was in another room.

I missed that man. Yes, it was time for a new domestic routine; we both needed company.

I was tidying our cramped room, not a long process, when someone hammered on the door below. It was evening now, late evening; clouds had come over even though it was summer. Perhaps my awareness of loneliness had unnerved me. Perhaps I was affected by what happened to Gavius. Anyway, I did not want to go down and answer. For a few moments I sat paralyzed, but the thunderous knocks continued. It was not a door-to-door prophecy-seller calling on spec. They were all shysters, but if nobody answered their knocks, most were able to prognosticate that no one was in.

This could be about the inquiry. I forced myself to descend the stairs and call out to ask who it was.

“Morellus! Stop shagging that aedile, dust him down nicely and send the man out to me!”

Feeling shakier than I expected, I opened up. “Sorry. You’re unexpected. I got nervous.”

“Calm down, it’s not a rapist, only your cuddly uncle Titus. I’ve come all the way from the Aventine,” Morellus complained. “In my state. You know I’m still on ‘light duties’ and even that’s only so I can be grudgingly paid a few coppers.” When he was attacked in April, he had come close to death. It was still far too soon for him to return to work, but I supposed his tribune wanted to help. The government has harsh rules on sick leave. Soldiers are either in their fort’s hospital or on parade. The vigiles had no hospital; they recovered on their own or they died, but they counted as soldiers for payroll purposes.

“Stop moaning. Here you are, let out to enjoy a pleasant evening stroll, instead of getting your hair singed off, rushing into burning buildings. You don’t have to combat criminals with bad breath who tell you to stuff yourself in a gourd and feed it to a donkey. You get to converse with refined people like me.”

“Where’s the man?”

“Not here.”

“Hades with all its phantoms! Why didn’t you tell me he would be out?”

“We didn’t know you were coming, perhaps?”

“I need to see him. Got something to tell.”

I was cool. “Have to tell me instead, Morellus.”

“I’m not telling a bloody woman.”

“I’m not a bloody woman, I’m an informer-a bloody good one. Tell me. Then if I think Tiberius Manlius wants to know, I can pass it on with improvements to your grammar and a more elegant speaking voice.”

“Elocution! I bet he likes that.” Being Morellus, he made it sound like an advanced sexual position. “Give me a drink, Albia, I’ve come all this way, I deserve something.”

“I am about to become a married woman. I cannot go into bars to buy drinks for strange men…” I ended the snooty banter and admitted honestly, “Morellus, I’m absolutely fed up with nasty drinks places. Let’s go for a walk and find somewhere else for a sit-down. And that will stop us being overheard too.”

As we strolled through the streets full of early revellers, off-duty workers and their families, I brought him up to date with my discoveries. The panpipes player who annoyed the bars passed us on his way to cause torment. A donkey came by with a bean sack.

“Manlius Faustus unearthed all this?” Morellus asked admiringly.