Lindsey Davis - Graveyard of the Hesperides

“And other things?” I asked, not falling for that.

Nona gave me her hardest stare, a fine adamantine product.

I still resisted the pretense. “I daresay Rufia did what was expected of a bar girl. I don’t blame her for it. As you said earlier, she had to earn her money in the best way she could.” The only way. That’s life.

We were sitting on stools, almost knee to knee. This would be how women negotiated with Nona as they pleaded for her help with an unwanted baby. I lowered my voice. Probably the women did the same, when they reached the point of saying how far gone they were and why it was so important that they did not have to bear the child.

“The question is, Nona, was there ever conflict with the landlord over what Rufia had to do? I can think of various scenarios. She worked in a bar, so of course it was assumed she also went upstairs with men. Maybe she didn’t like it, or after a time it became too much to bear. She could have acquired her own boyfriend, so wanted to stick with him. Maybe Old Thales used to impose on her. Maybe men who fornicated paid Thales, then he gave Rufia nothing-or not enough, in her opinion. Maybe it went the other way: she took the money directly from clients, but Thales suspected she cheated him of his right percentage. Maybe there was a fight over her. Maybe someone had a fight with her, over something else.”

“You ask a lot of questions, Flavia Albia.”

“Questions are unavoidable. This is how I do my job.”

“Leave it alone. The past is dead and buried. Don’t disturb it.”

“Too late. A bunch of workmen dug up the past today. If it’s Rufia, she has come back to claim justice.”

“If she’s dead, she doesn’t care any longer.” Clearly Nona had no belief in an afterlife-an advisable stance for an abortionist. She wouldn’t want to be wafting through the Underworld one day and meet up with the tiny ghosts of fetuses, all furious with her for being snuffed out prematurely.

How did she achieve the fatal snuffing out? She was too unfriendly to ask.

“You seem eager to protect the barmaid’s memory,” I commented. “Is that because Rufia was an old customer, I wonder?” She blanked it. “Come on, Nona, I know what you offer. Had you ever helped Rufia escape an unwanted pregnancy?”

“I would never have done that,” the wise woman assured me, stony-faced. “Killing a child in the womb is against the law, as you well know, my girl.”

Abortion is indeed illegal, even though prevention is awkwardly tolerated. Aborting a live child denies its father his rights. We must protect men’s rights. Meanwhile the poor mother cannot refuse to carry and bear a baby, even if its father is unknown or married to somebody else, if he thumps her, drinks all their income, unfortunately dies on her, or the horrible pest has simply bunked off.

Once I might have persuaded Nona to be more open, but I saw that being associated with a magistrate worked against me. Juno, I had become part of the establishment. People would stop sharing confidences.

I must learn from this. In the future I would only mention Manlius Faustus being an aedile if it positively helped.

“So you cannot tell me anything?”

“I don’t gossip.”

That must be a useful attribute in her profession. Sadly it was no help to mine.

After I left Nona, I happened to stroll past Costus’ victimarium, which she had mentioned, so I went in to speak to the proprietor. The place reminded me of an undertaker’s; it had very little on display to upset people by open reference to its trade. Costus worked in an anodyne office that could have housed a bookkeeper, not a slaughterer. Unlike Nona, he had a readily available price list, as I discovered when I admitted I might be hiring.

In our family, we have to avoid allowing my aunt Junia’s husband, the doleful Gaius Baebius, ever to fulfill his lifetime dream of acting as a priest. He once took lessons in sacrificing, but still doesn’t know how to do it. Julia and Favonia were foolishly lining up this pompous uncle, assuming his legendary backache allowed him to function, but I now decided to overrule them.

Costus, a practiced salesman in a long tunic, ran through his patter. “The best deal is the full threesome: your victimarius to gently lead in the selected beast, your popa to stun it with his trusty mallet, your cultrarius to slit the throat neatly and slash open the stomach for inspecting the organs.” Triple fees, I thought, without rancor. “We can put you in the way of a decent seer to read your entrails. Staberius is who we recommend. Very reliable. Just write out your required omens for him and he always fulfills his brief. You can buy your sheep, porker or bull from us too; beautiful animals, they come from our own farm. Just give advance notice if you want any unusual bird or creature. I warn you now, we can’t get flamingos for love nor money at the moment.”

“What am I supposed to have?”

“A pig is most popular for weddings.”

“Who wants to follow a trend? Can I change to a sheep?”

“You’re the bride! We have a glut of mutton. Black or white?”

“It’s a wedding.”

“Snowy then.”

“I hope ‘Snowy’ is a tint off your fleeces color chart, not some pet’s name.”

“Oh you’re a one! Who’s the lucky couple?”

“My man and me.”

Costus leaped back, surveying me with what could be new respect-or possibly derision. “ Congratulations! ”

“Thank you.” I was amazed how calmly I said that. “The do will be at my pa’s house on the Marble Embankment, below the Aventine.”

“Absolutely not a problem. Now come and see the boys.”

“Oh lovely. Is it pick-your-own?”

I think he suspected his new customer of too much levity.

Olympus, his boys were lush! It had been a hot day, but in any case, the sacrifice experts liked to show off. They would work barefoot and bare-chested, with wide sashes holding up long wraparound skirts-and this was how they sat around in the backyard, waiting for potential hirers. To butcher a bull you need a very strong physique and steady nerves. They looked seriously up to it. They must achieve their stunning ripples by gymnasium exercise, after which their toned torsos, arms and calves were oiled to display the results. They all had well-tended curly hairstyles and had been manicured. I bet the eager girls gave them free nail buffs. The men now preened like peacocks and gleamed like polished rosewood. You couldn’t have statues of them in your home, it would be too exciting.

“We train them to behave well with the public,” Costus assured me. “Your guests will find them respectful.”

That might not be how the bare-chested ones would find my irreverent guests, but by then it would be too late.

Playing it cool, I took my pick. Things were looking up. My entire flock of female relations, plus those belonging to Faustus whom I had yet to meet, would appreciate the care I had expended on obtaining a decent sacrifice, carried out by trusted experts-with beautiful muscle tone.

“I look forward to seeing you at my father’s house. Together with Snowy,” I cooed, smiling my gratitude at Passus, Erastus and Victor, my chosen trio of hunks. “Now don’t be offended, but you look like lads of the world…” Though no longer lads, they were far from offended. “So tell me something, if you can. Did any of you ever know a barmaid who worked at the Garden of the Hesperides-name of Rufia?”

They all did, including Costus.

They seemed willing to talk. At least that was my first impression. I admit I was reluctant to harbor doubts about such handsome samples of manhood. A bride is entitled to hanker for the freedom she is losing. Isn’t she?