Graveyard of the Hesperides

by Lindsey Davis

  “So! You’re wanting to find out what happened over at that place.” This old dame kept up with gossip and was brazen about doing so. Luckily, I had never seen much point in keeping our investigation a secret. The crime was old and it helps to have the neighborhood aware that you are open to offers of information.

  My companion was now behaving as if I was a granddaughter whose schoolwork needed to be supervised—by someone less indulgent than her goofy parents. “I daresay other people have been giving you the runaround. You should have come to me first, Albia.”

  I felt a surge of hope. “Six dead. It must have been a ghastly night. Do you know what it was all about?”

  “I do not! I keep my nose out of things like that.”

  After this outburst of sanctity, she paused. I had to encourage her into talking anew: “Gran, like what? I can’t tell what kind of bar the Hesperides is because it’s closed for works. The new landlord may intend it to be respectable—or he thinks he does. But did it have a very different history?”

  “No worse than other places,” she assured me complacently. I managed not to look around the Brown Toad, which had lousy staff and low customers, especially at night. It gave bench room to the Macedonian whores, while the waitress who had gone from sight could herself now be having her “lie-down” upstairs with a paying customer. Judging by those I had seen catcalling outside, the lethargic waitress could even really be a boy.

  Unlikely; she was not pretty enough.

  My confidante settled in to share her knowledge. Close to, she was no piece of art. Most of her teeth had fallen out, her hair was going the same way and nowadays she was warty. She wore an old tunic that might have belonged to a couple of other people before she picked it out as a bargain on a recycled clothes stall.

  According to her, in Old Thales’ time the Hesperides pretended to be quite reputable—“If you didn’t look too close.”

  “There are rooms upstairs.”

  “And they used them.”

  “For regular prostitution? Was it organized?”

  “Oh no.” She was dismissive. “If men wanted it, they could get it—but not from full-time prostitutes. Apart from the fact there wasn’t a lot of very dirty activity in those days, Old Thales hadn’t the gumption to organize a piss in a public latrine.”

  “You didn’t like him?”

  “I never really knew him. My husband did, and called him lazy, all talk, and not trustworthy. He puffed himself up as the happy landlord, but Rufia was the busy one at that place.”

  “What was the relationship between her and Thales?”

  “She worked there. He made out he was the big wheel, while he let her get on with it. The place would have gone to the wall without Rufia.”

  “No affair?”

  “Oh no. Not between them. I don’t think Rufia trusted men. She never had a regular fellow, and never any children.”

  “Did she go upstairs with customers?”

  “If she had to. I don’t count that.”

  I did wonder if Gran had ever done the same herself. I could not ask. She would have denied it indignantly. Nowadays she was grandmother to many and had a decent reputation to sustain. The past was formally quashed.

  “Routine services? Did she do anything else, anything involving the other bars?”

  My witness leaned forward confidingly. She had sweet breath as if she sucked apothecaries’ pastilles for some ailment. “Other business? Not like you mean. What she did was act as a mother to all the women.”

  “‘Mother’ as in brothel madam?”

  “No, more ‘mother’ as in mother! You know…”

  I did not.

  “She looked after them. Plenty of the girls who have to do that work are very young and ignorant. She taught them how to take care of themselves. Keep their spirits up. Keep as clean as possible. Watch out for each other, especially if they knew there were any nasty types of men around. How to deal with violence. And, if they was unlucky and fell for a you-know-what, Rufia quietly took them somewhere private and did the necessary.” I gazed at her. “So that the baby went away. You know!”

  “Yes, I know.” So it was Rufia who taught Menendra, who now carried this out for the White Chickens girls. “What about Nona?”

  “So you know Nona? She’s all right, though I hear she charges enough … Nona came in afterward. Same thing, of course. Well, she makes the babies go away; I don’t think she bothers with the other stuff. She really doesn’t care for men. She doesn’t much like the girls either. She does what she does to make money out of them and their misery. That was what made Rufia special around here. Her proper motherly approach.”

  “She had no family, you said. Was that because she got rid of her own too?”

  “Oh no, I don’t think so. Well, you get a feel for these things—I always thought she was one of those women who just couldn’t conceive. She had plenty of chances. Being a barmaid—you can imagine!”

  “Did she want children?”

  “I suspect so. She always spoke really nicely to my little ones if she met us in the street.”

  “So, Gran, she looked after the good-time girls instead?”

  “That’s right. That brought out her caring nature. She was a hard woman in many ways. I expect if she’d had her own, she might have been quite different.” The granny laughed, reminiscing. “Well, you have to stay calm then, don’t you? I say she was hard, but that was just her attitude. She talked hard. She stood no nonsense. But you knew where you were with her, and she was never unfair. People liked her for it.”

  I put aside my food bowl. “Somebody failed to appreciate her. She was killed at the Hesperides.”

  “Was she?” The granny assumed a vague, watery-eyed look. It was the kind of disassociation my own would have used. I am just a poor old body who can’t answer anything difficult … “Well, I don’t know about that, dear.”

  “So you know nothing about the five men either, whose bodies we have dug up?” She shook her head with determination. I tried pressing her, though I knew it was hopeless. “They could have been salesmen—it’s been suggested. I don’t know what they were trying to sell.”

  To my surprise, the old one suddenly perked up. “Oh, that would have been the cladding-sellers,” she cried. “Gavius and his crew. They were always coming round in them days. They used to love a night out drinking at the Hesperides.”

  “Oh! But that was in the past?”

  “Fell out with Thales. He was like that. Took against people for no reason, never mind if they was good customers. Stupid kind of man.”

  “Or they stopped coming because they are all dead, Gran.” She looked at me quizzically. “If they fell out, would Thales have gone so far as to have them murdered?”

  She now stared as if I were barmy. “No,” she explained, with a pitying manner. “Old Thales was a coward. But none of those men are dead. Whatever gave you that idea, Albia? They are as alive as you or me, same as always. Alive and decent-enough boys, for salesmen. They live in Mucky Mule Mews. As I recall, Rufia used to lodge in a cheap room above Gavius and his parents, when he lived with them.”

  I drew in a deep breath. Then, since she seemed to have no more to tell me, I took the warm hot pot off the brazier and carried it across the road to give my man his lunch.

  XXXVII

  “Albia! You took your time.” Ravenous, my bridegroom sounded as sharp as if we were married already. Could our bliss be over—so soon?

  It seemed worth reviving; I kissed him. “I apologize, darling. But I bring holy broth made from bootleg beef, if you don’t mind stealing from the gods—”

  “Sorry, divine ones…” Tiberius grasped the bowl of hot pot, already pulling his folding utensil set one-handed from a pouch. He kissed me back—so there was hope for us—then leaned himself against a pile of full sacks, falling to. Although he was a pious man, he seemed unfazed by benefiting from a bull that had escaped sacrifice. Nor did he take any notice of Dromo, who had been drawn in
to the courtyard by the stew’s enticing scent, looking hopeful.

  Dromo was pushed aside by Julius Liberalis, the Hesperides landlord, arriving in a bate. I took over, so Tiberius could eat without harassment.

  “Liberalis! Your contractor is busy. Come and talk to me instead.” Tiberius was listening in, so I pitched my voice so he could hear and catch up on my latest discoveries. “I have been learning some dirty things about your precious bar—not least that it once was a center for local abortions.”

  “Rubbish!” Liberalis blustered, unconvincingly. “These premises are wholly above board.”

  “Possibly now. It will be up to you how you choose to run your hostelry, won’t it, genial proprietor?” Playing fair, I allowed he might alter the bar’s character for the better. “You need to buck up though. Since Old Thales passed on, the Garden of the Hesperides has already come under vigiles scrutiny—and you haven’t even started yet.”

  “Is it my fault you dug up a load of old bodies?”

  I felt my chin lift. “Bodies that are assuming a more mysterious role than ever. I now know about the salesmen who were in the bar on the night of the tragic events. They were locals, a group of men who are still well-known in the Ten Traders. They simply stopped coming because Thales quarreled with and then barred them. My sources reckon the falling-out was most likely unprovoked.”

  Liberalis had the grace to nod. “Yes, he was rather like that.”

  “Don’t model yourself on him then! Ever heard of Gavius?”

  “I know him. He sells marble as a fascia for bar counters. Acting as a middleman for all the big quarries. He reclad both of our worktops recently.”

  In that case, it was indefensible that Liberalis had previously claimed to know nothing about the salesmen and their evening drinks. I wanted to know why he had lied, then more about the salesmen, possible witnesses, and their connection with the bar. “Was this work done after you took over, or was Thales still living?”

  “No, he’d gone. It was my first improvement, straight after the bar came to me. What of it?”

  “Well, to start with, you were present the night Rufia vanished. So when I asked who was here then, you strung me along deliberately.”

  “All right, I thought it might have been them.”

  “No, you knew! Now if the Gavius crew are not our five buried skeletons, I ask you yet again. What other group came to the bar that night? Who are those dead men?”

  The new landlord applied an innocent expression, still pretending he was quite different from his more raffish predecessor. “Sorry, I can’t help.”

  “Maybe Gavius will tell us,” Tiberius mumbled through a mouthful of stew, trying to scare Liberalis for me.

  “Good thinking, love.” I played along. “I’ll call on him next. The marble crew won’t remember drinking or shagging a barmaid ten years ago; they probably do that every night. But having a big row with Thales should have stuck; they can tell us who was here then. They may even say what Julius Liberalis was doing that evening, since his own memory is so vague.” Liberalis shuffled anxiously.

  Had Thales quarreled with the marble-suppliers deliberately, to make them go home before the real trouble started? Was he clearing the bar, to leave no potential witnesses to what he already had planned?

  “So tell me,” I broached Liberalis, changing my tone, “what brings you here today, looking so anxious?”

  I hoped he had had a serious rethink. No chance of that, unfortunately. “I came to see the damage to my bar,” he grouched instead.

  I refused to sympathize. “Well, you came too late, man. You’re using a good contractor; it is already cleaned up and reinstated.”

  “Yes, I can see. But Manlius Faustus sent a message about what it was like this morning.”

  Manlius Faustus stayed on his sacks, methodically spooning up stew.

  “I saw it myself, a total mess. Liberalis, all you cared about from the start is whether this will hold up the work.” Exasperated, I went fully onto the attack. “Of course the real problem is that we have uncovered a serious crime, the culprits are clearly still out there, yet nobody—especially you—has the sense to tell us who they are. There would have been no damage to your place if we had had these people in custody. It’s time for you to cooperate, I’d say!”

  Liberalis looked shifty but made no reply.

  “Oh come on! You already admitted it was Gavius in the bar. So who else did you see that night?”

  He shook his head as if the answer was nobody. I had never believed that. So he was still stubbornly lying.

  I snapped at him to get a grip. I was thoroughly riled. I mentioned how we once presumed Menendra’s heavies were involved, although our eyewitness discounted them. That was when Liberalis finally burst out with a completely new complication: “Eyewitness? If somebody saw who did it, you tell him to be careful! I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. These people mean business.”

  “What people? What business are they in?”

  He sighed. He was pulling at his hair again as he admitted unhappily, “The bar business. If I’m right, Flavia Albia, this was aimed at me.”

  For once he had startled me. Even Tiberius stopped eating. While he, like a sharp contractor, probably began thinking that if the site intrusion was a customer’s own fault, the customer would have to pay for the damage, I asked severely, “What have you done, Liberalis, to deserve such punishment?”

  He squirmed, his usual reaction to pressure. Then he finally owned up: “I told them I saw no reason to pay any protection money while the bar was closed for work.”

  “Protection money?”

  Out of a corner of my eye I saw Tiberius pass his bowl to his slave. Dromo complained it was empty, then started to lick out the gravy. His master came over to us, mopping his mouth with a napkin and, full of official interest, demanding that Liberalis explain.

  It turned out all the local bars paid a gang for “protection,” which of course meant bribes not to harass their premises. This came as no surprise; it is a centuries-old crime that the authorities will never stamp out because bar owners are always too scared to complain.

  Tiberius was growling under his breath at the landlord’s accepting attitude. When pushed, Liberalis told him that in the High Footpath neighborhoods, including the Ten Traders, the leading villains were the Rabirius gang. Tiberius glanced at me; we had come across them during a previous case.

  “I’ll just have to pay up now.”

  “You could try reporting it!” Tiberius answered sternly.

  Liberalis shrugged, very matter-of-fact. “It’s only an overhead.”

  “No, it’s extortion.”

  “I don’t want to watch my bar burn down.”

  “Is that how they intimidate you? Who does it? The elder or younger Rabirius? Roscius is the youngblood’s name.”

  “Not sure. They send agents. Thales knew Rabirius quite well,” said Liberalis. “Old cronies, or pretended to be. I’ve never had a personal visitation, just a couple of henchmen come round like door-to-door sponge-sellers. Only they are not vending anything, and they are very menacing. They stand up close, then don’t smile.”

  “Shark tactics!” This situation annoyed Tiberius. “Rabirius is supposed to be getting on in years. The next generation want to wrest control from him—we anticipate a crime war. Are threats the only way they lean on you?”

  “That’s all. Leave it, Legate.”

  “Have they tried the trick of forcing a man of theirs on to your staff?”

  “A plant?” Clearly Liberalis was worldlier than he appeared.

  “That’s what I mean. Observing you, taking charge of the cash box, creaming off profits, letting you know they know everything that goes on in your place?”

  “No, it’s simple protection. If I pay them, we all rub along fine. This is how things are done in the trade.”

  Ideas were jumping at me. “So did Thales always pay up?” I wondered whether the five dead men could have been en
forcers; had Thales fought back? He would have been a brave man, which did not fit with what I had heard. But his heir assured me Old Thales paid up sweetly. There had never been bad feeling. “Do the Rabirius men habitually drink here?”

  “Oh no. They have their own places where they spend time; they never mix business and leisure. All they ever take from us is a quick hospitality beaker of wine.”

  “Formally sealing the deal? So civilized!” I scoffed.

  Liberalis missed the point. “Well, we’ve always given them our top quality, the flagon we hide in the cupboard, to make sure they leave happy … You need to explain to her,” he told Faustus crossly, “how the business world works!”

  “I think she knows” was the quiet answer.

  *

  Liberalis was feeling the pressure; he flounced off. Over his shoulder he threw one last barb: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Flavia Albia, buying a meat dish from a bar. You should know that contravenes the Emperor’s food regulations!”

  I knew that too. But sometimes the law is plain ridiculous. For me, if a decree seems outrageous, I stand up to it.

  Of course if it’s a decree from Domitian, I do it discreetly. I’m not stupid.

  XXXVIII

  When I went looking for Gavius, I took along Tiberius. Marble was his speciality. He wanted to come and meet the supplier.

  Tiberius took the bowl back to Gran at the Brown Toad. He thanked her for the hot pot (angling for more another day) and followed his usual routine of asking a nitpicky question; this time he wanted to know whose granny the old granny was. Flattered and giggly, she said, “Pretty well, everyone in the High Footpath district.” He asked if she knew where the fascia salesman might live nowadays and she then said in Mucky Mule Mews, which she had told me already.

  I led him to the dungheaped alley, where we could ask the man’s parents for the actual house Gavius lived in nowadays. They let us pat the dog Gavius had left with them, a slobbering, happy creature who greeted us like old friends even though we were strangers. But she was a large girl, and when we first arrived she let out a sonorous bark. It might deter intruders, if they were cowardly. The parents gave directions to the other end of the mews, only for us to find Gavius was out. If he was working, he could be anywhere; he might even be visiting a quarry miles from Rome.