Graveyard of the Hesperides (33 page)

Since I was not his apprentice, I did not need scaring. I checked that he was certain about the bone. “It's from a fetus then. Once we knew what we were excavating, care was taken. Why did we only find one rib?”

“How old is your burial?”

“Ten years.”

“No coffins?”

“Bare earth.”

“That's your answer. Lost over time. All the other baby bones must have decayed completely in the soil.”

“Even the little skull?” I really did not want the child to have been beheaded like its mother.

“The head would be soft and unformed, remember. So yes, it could vanish into the earth. I don't know why this single rib should have survived on its own. No reason. Just coincidence.”

*   *   *

I felt the structure of my case shift. If the skeleton was Rhodina, she had been pregnant. From the size of the child's rib, Silvinus believed she must have been showing, and more likely into her final trimester, so everyone who saw her would be aware of it. This could be so relevant. All kinds of dynamics might have been altered by her expecting a baby. It could be simple: this was a reason why she wanted to free herself from Old Thales. It could be why
he
wanted to get rid of
her
. Or it could have affected other people.

Several suspects in my disreputable cast list might have felt annoyed or threatened by the potential child. Sometimes repercussions will depend on who the baby's father is, though with a bar waitress there was no way she could have known. Did that matter? When a father is named by a woman, it can stick, however ridiculous her claim. She couldn't prove who was responsible—but nor could anyone prove it was not the man she named. What might matter in my investigation was who she
said
he was, and whether he accepted it.

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.

 

LII

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.

This explained why Liberalis always sounded so anxious; he must have feared he could lose a fortune. Possibly even Rufia had wanted a share, in return for running the bar. Then along came the fecund Rhodina. Money explained why a barmaid that everyone else hankered after had cozied up to Thales of all people. Liberalis may have realized he himself looked so hopeless that Thales, under pressure, might easily change his mind about who was left the bar.

Liberalis won out but I reckoned ten years ago he nearly lost it. It was time to take a much harder look at him.

The new information offered me reasons why the long-term waitress Rufia might also harbor bad feelings: Thales used her efficiency, only to prefer a much prettier, younger squeeze. No wonder Rufia loathed the incomer. If she thought bosomy Rhodina was after the money, she would stop her and she may even have courted Liberalis as her ally. Meanwhile, if Rhodina was pregnant with a child she claimed Thales fathered, her assertion, though ludicrous, could still strengthen her position. Perhaps he was one of those idiots, past his prime, who would put up with any unlikely story in return for an heir of his own.

On the other hand, Thales might have resented Rhodina's attempted manipulation. He had held out as a single man for years. Why suddenly cave in? Rather than welcome the coming child, he too may have decided to be rid of the inconvenience. Did he and Rufia gang up?

Either way, there was Rhodina, pregnant. She had told Gavius she wanted to leave, but he was her only confidant; the rest believed they were stuck with her. Rufia and Julius Liberalis both had strong reasons to remove Rhodina permanently. Even Thales might have been tiring of her. He certainly was not a man to want three toddlers running around in his bar. Rhodina needed to be dealt with, and before she gave birth.

So could the five men who died have been a gambling syndicate? Or did Rhodina possess five hefty brothers who came to the bar to defend her interests? Five would-be protectors with old-fashioned prominent noses, possibly from one of the eastern provinces? Five rather dumb ones, who let themselves be overpowered.

Or were these five men killed for some quite unconnected reason—and murdering them just happened to let Thales and Rufia deal with Rhodina at the same time?

More and more, I felt that both Rufia and Liberalis must have known about, and were closely involved in, the scheme to attack the five men. Rufia vanished the same night, but Julius Liberalis was alive and well, and living around the corner from what was now his bar.

 

LIII

I decided to tackle this at once. There was no time to discuss it with Tiberius; I was fired up and ready. Before he and I met, I would have gone in alone immediately. Why wait?

One reason was the attack on Gavius. Whoever was so keen to silence him might attack me too. I presumed they took part in killing the six victims ten years ago. Although they might not all have survived the intervening decade, any who did were dangerous. If Liberalis might be one of them, I should approach him cautiously.

Once it would have been my father's voice mentally nagging me to take more care; now my husband took over the imaginary advice. In true Roman style, control of me had passed from one male head of the household to another.

Still, I ought to take somebody with me. I did consider asking Larcius to release one of the workmen. Then I remembered that all the men had gone with Tiberius to Lesser Laurel Street today, where some great push was being made to complete the house in time for the wedding. Ready for my domestic life? Juno Matronalis! The house might be ready but I was not. When I had time to think about it, I was starting to have very cold feet.

I despised Liberalis too much to feel afraid of him. Apparently he had never worked, just sat on his backside waiting for Thales to die. Now I knew his full motivation, I did assess risks. What would he have done if Thales had found someone else to leave his wealth to? Could it be that under his plaintive anxiety, Liberalis was hiding a vicious streak?

Cobnuts. Nothing so positive was in evidence now. He loved ownership and presumably hoped for a large income, but I could not see him ever amounting to much. Yes, he seemed eager to run the bar, but he was entirely wrong for it. Like Thales, he would lord it over his customers, just hoping they would stand him a beaker of something tolerable and call him a rollicking character. But I doubted that his reputation would ever match that of Old Thales.