Graveyard of the Hesperides (5 page)

“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.

 

VII

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?

Victor said they all drank at the Garden of the Hesperides, had done for years and still did in theory; as soon as it reopened for business they would return. “It's a good bar.”

“Would you say you had some special relationship, or were you just ordinary customers?”

“Just normal.” Their profession gave them a thirst. The Hesperides was good for lunch and evening meals too, plus you could have a flutter on horses and chariots if you wanted.

“And other things?” I asked, trying to look matter-of-fact. Nobody volunteered an answer, so I added, “Or are you all good, clean-living boys?”

Erastus said Passus had never been good or clean-living; they all guffawed. He obviously had a reputation for playing around, which perhaps the others envied.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me. I'm a woman of the world and in my profession I've seen everything. If you go upstairs with waitresses—or with waiters, for that matter—it's your business.” I saw no sign that any of them preferred the male sex, though I kept an open mind. “My only interest is what you can tell me about Rufia, who disappeared.” Still no admissions, so I changed my angle of questioning. “At least if you all knew her, can you describe her for me? So far she is only a name. Was she pretty? A good waitress? Was she well-liked?”

Erastus did the honors. “She was never much of a looker, but she was good at her job. She got on with everyone. She knew how to be friendly.”

“Could she be
too
friendly? Get herself into situations?”

“Rufia could take care of herself,” Costus weighed in. “She was the one who chucked out troublemakers if ever a strong arm was needed.”

“A woman had to break up fights? They do have male staff, don't they?”

“Natalis and Nipius. But nobody argued with Rufia.”

“What she says goes,” Passus reinforced his master. So stern had been this legendary waitress, he still used the present tense. “Besides, if Rufia was trying to eject someone and they declined her invitation to leave, everyone else in the bar would come and help her.”

“Ho, ho! Her word was law?” That was slightly unexpected. “It doesn't sound as though it would be easy for someone to overpower Rufia and do her in—which must be what happened, if those are her bones in the courtyard.”

“Overpowering is always doable if it's tackled the right way,” Passus disagreed. I reminded myself that these experts spent their time persuading enormous specimens of cattle to go willingly to their deaths. It was essential that a sacrifice did not protest, or you had to start again.

It would have been impolite to suggest the victimarii had murdered Rufia. They seemed too good-hearted. (I know! That old cliché. I would never accept it from a witness, but of course my own judgment was trustworthy…) I momentarily envisaged them hanging a garland around the barmaid's neck, walking her to an altar with gentle encouragement, then,
Kneel down for us, Rufia, don't worry—whack … stun … whizzo … slit—gather up all her spurting blood in special bronze bowls
 …

Presumably not. Whatever happened to Rufia was most likely sudden, messy violence carried out by an enraged acquaintance, or perhaps done by a stranger. A stranger would probably be untraceable now. An acquaintance might be an easier prospect.

“Did Rufia have a boyfriend?” They sniggered. Apparently not. So much for my most obvious suspect. “Do you find the suggestion amusing?” I pressed.

“She was not exactly the type,” claimed Erastus.

Passus added, “No one would have dared.”

“Being the bouncer? I am gathering that Rufia was a force of nature. Was she quarrelsome?”

“Not if you did things her way.”

“You're implying people generally did? Anyone hold a grudge against her?”

Without obvious consultation, the victimarii all shook their heads. They were positive. Too positive? Sometimes you just catch a hint of conspiracy. Had I noticed flickers?

“All sure about that? Well, if you remember anything, please let me know.”

They each nodded again, good honest fellows. All not looking at one another.

Were they simply convinced there had been no grudges? That Rufia was a genuinely lovely girl with a sweet personality, whom everyone liked? A lovely but very strong-armed girl who could (and would) expel louts and generally make people follow orders? I had seen barmaids like that. They enjoy their power. Bars being what they are, I do not blame them.

“Do you remember that time, when she disappeared?” There were nods, freshly helpful. “Was it known immediately? The same night or next morning? Or did people only gradually become aware she had gone missing?”

This question seemed to puzzle them. “I suppose it was gradual,” decided Costus.

“The bar had other staff, so Rufia dropping her shifts might initially pass without disrupting the place?”

“There was some cursing from the waiters!” Victor grinned.

“Bars tend to have a shifting complement,” I mused. “Staff do come and go … How quickly did the dark rumors start? The suspicion that she had been murdered?”

They could not tell me. Stories of her being killed and buried in the courtyard seemed to have grown up slowly until all the world just knew about it.

“What did the landlord, Thales, have to say?”

“He harrumphed and made no comment. That was how he was.”

“Was he suspected from the beginning?” Again, the landlord's supposed involvement developed subtly. There was no public outcry and no one investigated. Although people guessed Rufia had been killed and he was guilty, no one said so too loudly. “Were people scared of Thales?”

“He was not a man to cross unless you wanted to be barred.”

“Oh wonderful! Nobody thought about Rufia, only whether their own drinks were at risk!” It had a horrible ring of truth. “In general, was he violent?”

“Not particularly,” said Passus, the one who was supposed to have the filthy lifestyle.

“For a bar owner,” chuckled Erastus, a much quieter character. He had a birthmark down one side of his face that might put off some of the girls. When he was conducting a sacrifice, he would have to mask it with face paint so he looked perfect.

“Hmm … Do I deduce Rufia did not live on the premises? I know there are rooms above the bar.”

“When the place is up and running, those rooms are always in use,” said Costus.

“For travelers to rest their heads—or the purposes I mentioned earlier?”

“For all kinds of things,” he swore, pretending all these things were of an innocent variety. A sewing club met there? A group of pastoral poets?

The main point was that Rufia lodged somewhere else, which made it less likely anyone would go and check on her if she failed to turn up for duty. “I imagine she had a room not too far away?”

“Mucky Mule Mews, I believe.”

“Desirable area?” I was wry. They shared the joke.

“Very exclusive!” scoffed Costus. Erastus said his cousin lived there, but he always had, so he didn't know any better.

As they told me about Mucky Mule Mews, I could see they were sharing some amusement at the thought of me going there. Was it also dangerous? I wondered. Would there be a risk to me if I went?

“This could explain what happened to her,” I said. “There are plenty of instances of weary bar staff leaving in the dark, after their workplace finally shuts in the small hours, then being waylaid as they make their way home. Especially women. Robbery may feature if the money's easy to grab, but perverts are really after sex, sex with a vulnerable lone victim.”