Graveyard of the Hesperides (34 page)

Would someone stronger take over the daily running of the Hesperides, as Rufia had done? Surely not Nipius and Natalis, or their Dardanian lady friends. If illegal gambling continued to happen, I could see that being annexed by the Rabirii, through Gallo. The whole bar, with its neat water feature installed by my beloved, might become a gangsters' asset, one more in their black portfolio. Liberalis would be such a patsy I bet the Rabirii would dispense with him altogether. He owned it. So what? That would not stop an organized-crime mob.

These thoughts had made me slow my pace. When I arrived back in the enclave with the bars, on my way to where Liberalis lived around the corner, I was dawdling. I noticed people who had not yet seen me.

There were four, all women. Being female, their gathering point for a gossip was not a bar, but beside the high counter of the bakery. Three I recognized: Gran (Prisca), Lepida from the snack stall and Menendra. Macer must have released Menendra from his horrible holding cell. Here she was the youngest in a mature coven. The fourth woman looked the oldest, a stranger, white-haired, heavily lopsided, struggling on two sticks. Although I had never seen her before she looked at home in this district.

As so often around here, my approach was hindered by beasts of burden. The presence of Menendra implied they were part of her business. As I tried to get around the laden donkeys, the group dispersed as if naturally. The unknown woman managed quite a sprightly step into a carrying chair; she was rushed off before I saw her properly. Lepida galloped away as if she had a busy snack stall to run. Menendra vanished too.

I only managed to block Gran. She tried to sidestep, failed to dodge me, then avoided my questions by introducing the young bread-servers as two of her granddaughters. Lepida was one of her daughters, so Lepidina, the daughter at the snack stall, was another grandchild …

Her attitude had changed. She gave me an accusing look as if she did not want to talk to me. Not surprisingly, this was because of Gavius. Tiberius' ploy had failed to work; people had found out he was still alive. The very fact that Gavius belonged to such a large family had led to the truth coming out.

His grandmother had, of course, gone visiting; so, she said, had other relatives. She made a loud announcement, as if informing the whole neighborhood. “I thought you was a decent type, Flavia Albia! None of us know how you could do such a terrible thing. The family are going to see him laid out on his bier. When I went, there he was in bed, being fed a spoon of broth.”

I suppose other members of the family thought it was cruel to pretend Gavius was dead. They must have worked on Prisca so she had brooded, then had a rethink—a typical family about-face that ignored all logic. Now Tiberius and I were enemies. She held up a hand and pushed away past me. “Don't squirm up to me, my girl! You are a nasty, spiteful piece of work and that fellow of yours is as bad.”

I let her go.

*   *   *

The two pigtailed bakery girls were staring at me with open curiosity. I asked for my usual loaf. They served me in silence. Once again it was the last on sale that day, the wonky one with a burned segment.

I tried mollification. “We were only trying to protect Gavius, and maybe lure his attacker into the open.”

They must have been told not to talk to me. Even so, I noticed they sold me bread. Around here, commerce was everything.

*   *   *

I would not be welcome at the Brown Toad, where old Prisca was the kitchen queen. At the moment, I stood no chance of changing her attitude to me, so I made my way to the snack stall, hoping to see Lepida. She was not there. Possibly she was with Prisca, her mother. At least Lepidina, from the third generation, was there tidying the stall.

She and I had not yet had any conversation. When her mother was at the stall, she only eavesdropped. Lepida for her part had only really opened up to me that time Lepidina was absent. The daughter was another thin, hard-working woman, aged around twenty. Her face was pleasant, her manner subdued, almost to the point of timorous.

I asked for a cold drink. I could see Lepidina wondering whether to serve me, but as at the bakery, commerce or at least good manners won. As soon as she brought the beaker, I weighed in. Though she was an adult, I judged her unmarried and still under her mother's thumb. I bet they lived together. I bet the mother regarded it as her house.

Lepidina was squirming, but had no idea how to get away from me. I repeated what I told the bakery girls. “I hope your mother and grandmother will believe we meant only good. It hasn't worked—” And what was more, it struck me that Gavius was now once more in danger. “Lepidina, help me if you will. I am desperately worried what could happen to Gavius if news that he is still alive flies all around the Ten Traders so his attackers hear it.”

“We won't let on.”

“Oh come! I just saw four women having a good chin-wag, with two bubbly girls at the bread counter taking in everything as well. I don't blame anyone, but this is no longer a secret. We both know the gossip will be spread through the High Footpath by dinner time.”

“No, it's just in the family.” That was a pretty large family, I knew.

“Well, I really hope it can be kept quiet, though I'd say too many people already know.” I let an indignant note creep into my tone. “Menendra's not a relative, is she? Why, I don't even know the fourth old biddy who was just now talking to your mother and grandmother! Can you tell me who she is?”

Lepidina shook her head, a fast, nervous movement, while she remained tight-lipped.

“Is it someone you never talk about?” I suggested softly. “Someone people think is dead?”

At that she was so frightened, she bustled behind the stall, from whose safety she declared with a new boldness that I ought to go. She pulled a heavy leather curtain and hid there.

Their bench was outside. I took it and stayed there. I coughed to let her know.

It is possible that a signal was sent somehow. Whether or not Lepidina passed a message out, after half an hour, her mother bustled up the street. She rattled the curtain, which was pulled up, though her daughter kept out of sight.

“Flavia Albia, I'd like my seat back, if you don't mind!”

I put down my beaker. “Lepida, listen. Can Gavius talk yet?” Lepida shook her head. He was still too much of an invalid. With a heavily bandaged throat wound, I guessed speech might be difficult anyway. “It is very important that he be taken to a safe place. Somewhere nobody will know. I am persona non grata so I have to rely on you to persuade the family to fix this. If you want, I can try getting help from the vigiles.”

Lepida unbent slightly.

“If not, Appius and his crew might help,” I persisted. “You must all understand that he is still at risk. Killers are after him. The big mystery is why did Gavius ever let his assailant in?” Lepida looked vague at the question. “He knew them,” I told her. “Whoever attacked him, both he and his dogs knew them. They will think he can identify them.”

Now she looked not just vague but terrified.

I made one last attempt. “Just now, when you were all by the bakery, there was somebody with you. She was taken off in a chair—not a hired one, it looked private.” We owned one like it in my family, ostensibly for Mother's use, though nowadays it was more often borrowed by my sisters. Ours had the same air: once-smart paintwork that had become slightly battered, two bearers who responded to instructions. Today's couple were the same. Unlike commercial chairmen, they did not annoy the elderly one with a long-winded act of pretending not to recognize any requested destination. “She has her own conveyance. She said go, they ran.”

Lepida pretended to have no idea who I meant.

I ignored the act. “I can guess who she is. You once claimed you never knew her.”

“Oh really? Anyway, I have remembered her now.” Lepida was shameless about her previous lie.

“So it seems. I suppose someone contacted her about recent events at the bar? Told her the old bones were being dug up?”

“Somebody must have done.” Lepida had to acknowledge it, but was quick to add, “She lives far away. I don't know where she stays in Rome.”

“One of your cronies will know. Menendra, no doubt. Send a message. I want a meeting, and I want it soon. The day draws on, so let's say tomorrow.” Tomorrow would be my last chance on this inquiry. After tomorrow I would be a bride in my new home, handing out wedding breakfasts to relatives I couldn't stand. “She can name the time and place. Tell her she has to meet me,” I said. “Say that from me to Rufia.”

 

LIV

Before I gave up, I made one last call. It was too late to tackle Liberalis; I saw sense. He would deny everything as usual. I was past my best for today. Perhaps the way to deal with such a nervous man was to have him arrested. If stuck in a cell, pure fear might make him talk. Macer could organize that.

Instead, I went to Mucky Mule Mews to see Gavius. His parents let me in but he was sleeping. Guarded by three silent dogs, he lay still, with very labored breathing. Infection had set in, so I was told; he was delirious. They had managed to feed him once or twice, as his grandmother said, but mostly he would not even take water. To me, he looked so feverish I feared for his life.

Though I was desperate to ask him questions, we did not disturb him. Leaving his father watching, I stepped out into the alley with his mother, Annina. She knew I had suggested moving Gavius somewhere safer, but he was too weak. Having seen him, I accepted that. Instead, Appius and the crew were coming after work and would then maintain a rota to protect him. I was afraid he would die despite them.

“I know you did your best, Flavia Albia.”

“We just want to discover who it was, so they can be punished and stopped.”

“I know you do.” It was the time of the evening when there were more people than usual in the alley. One or two of the women waved and smiled sympathetically at Annina.

“Look, Annina, I am sorry to nag about this, but has your boy said anything at all?”

She shook her head. “He can't remember what happened. We asked him gently. He just became very agitated. Everyone has been so good, you know. All his cousins have been round to see how he is.” How many was that? No wonder we could not keep his survival a secret. The mother understood what I was thinking, because she said, “I'm sorry. It's the old fellow. When people come, he does so like to chat with them. This is terrible, but it's really brought him out of himself in a strange way. He lets them in because they are family and, well, you know how it is…”

I assured her I did.

I needed to distract her from maundering on about the breach of confidence. I asked abruptly, “I don't suppose you have seen anything of Rufia today?” Although she had never admitted knowing Rufia was alive, I remembered the way she had spoken when I visited the barmaid's old room. Now, Annina denied having any recent contact. I double-checked. “In view of all the interest in where she used to live, I wondered if she might have been to see the room again herself?”

“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.