Graveyard of the Hesperides (20 page)

Logic can let you down. As we set about tidying up the site, with me helping, Macer turned up with a group of his men, dragging along Menendra's heavies for Trypho to identify. To my surprise, he said neither of them looked like the man he had found damaging the works. Besides, neither had the nose damage he had inflicted.

Macer decided that since the pair had been arrested, he would keep them in custody anyway. “My torturer has nothing else to do today, so he can put in a spot of practice with his weights and chains, maybe do some red-hot pokerwork. There must be something these lags will confess to. We'll see.”

Now I looked closely, the prisoners were both burly and cauliflower-eared. That could be because they had a history of fights, or else they had brawling wives who owned particularly weighty frying pans.

As they slumped in the arms of their captors, it looked as if they had already been softened up with a few vigiles rib-thumps. I marched up and asked what they did for Menendra. I had a fair idea, but would have liked to know what job description they gave publicly. One made a feeble attempt of muttering “Who?” When I pointed out I had seen them all together yesterday, the other just spat on the ground. He made sure to avoid me. Even so, one of the vigiles gave him a great shake. “Naughty!”

“It's all right,” I returned in my mildest tone. “Some people cannot help being barbarians. I expect these came to Rome to get civilized. The etiquette lessons are simply not working.”

“Where do you think they hail from?” Tiberius asked Macer.

“Some cesspit in the east. I could send them back to swim in their home dung, but to save the expense I'd rather wheel them out for the lions.”

In the arena, criminals who felt too nervous of the big cats were indeed placed on little wheeled trolleys and pushed forward. An uncle of mine had that happen. It made a good story at Saturnalia, provided his children weren't listening.

“My quota for the amphitheater is a bit low this month,” Macer continued. “I could use a higher tally to impress my tribune. I get a free ticket if I send enough lowlifes to the beasts.”

Perhaps he was joking to worry the prisoners but he sounded as if he meant it. I still thought these men had been involved in the attempted break-in, yet they were clearly exonerated from smashing up the bar. I told Macer to have the old couple and their son from Mucky Mule Mews take a look at them.

“You don't want to waste helpful witnesses, Macer.” Of course neither they nor their son had really seen the burglars but we were all bluffing. To the enforcers, I said, “If you tell me what you went to look for in that burglary, I will intercede for your release.” No use. “I see you're too frightened of Menendra and not scared enough of me!”

“They will learn!” scoffed Tiberius cheerily.

He went back to attend to his site, so I followed. Not knowing what else I could do next on my inquiry, I decided at least my presence would boost his morale. To my surprise he suddenly took me in his arms. “Don't worry,” he urged, as if he thought I was afraid life with him might always involve pillage and property-wrecking.

I helped where I could. I can carry a bucket. While we were sorting out the mess, his brother-in-law appeared on-site again. Until Antistius came, we had been making good progress. Larcius had hired in a couple of extra bodies, wide-chested jolly laborers who set to with picks as if demolishing ruined concrete was their idea of a picnic on the beach. Our usual men cleared the rest of the site. Tiberius had been off with Sparsus for more materials; when I joked that “going to buy materials” was a good old builders' excuse, he cheered up enough to smile and aim a spank at me. (He missed. I saw it coming.) Then to spoil our day, we had our visitation.

Antistius hinted again that what happened here was caused by Tiberius somehow failing to exercise control. Viewing Tiberius as an amateur, the swine was sneering today as much as yesterday.

We were lumbered with him. He had escorted Aunt Valeria to my parents' house this morning, which had let him shed his wife and children. Fania had taken the boys to the imperial menagerie. I disapproved. In our family my mother would choose expeditions, but normally my father tagged along. We would all be disappointed if he could not come with us; only significant business ever stopped him.

Antistius had no excuse. Here he was, bringing his youngsters to the city for the first time, yet he preferred to slither off to annoy other people. He started to give us pompous theories about what the workmen should or should not be doing; they shot looks at Tiberius, who washed his hands in a bucket of water, then hauled Antistius out of the bar to let them get on.

I suggested we take morning refreshments at one of the open bars. Antistius selected the Brown Toad. We advised against it. He ignored us. This unpleasant place was the last Tiberius and I would have chosen, but Antistius overruled us, despite our experience as locals. Exchanging a glance, we gave in and let him choose.

“You two never have much to say for yourselves!” he commented. That became even truer when he started to interrogate Tiberius about his financial tussles with Uncle Tullius.

I kept well out of that. I knew how much the current strain over money upset Tiberius. It had almost led to complete estrangement after twenty years of harmonious living. Having met Tullius Icilius, I guessed what he must think of Antistius. He would loathe an idiot stranger taking interest in his close-guarded financial affairs. The alacrity with which he had left us at the concert last night was an indication. He went his own way and didn't care whom he offended.

The Brown Toad had dusty counters and a smell. Two tables were in the street, which was strictly illegal. We took one. At the other sat a group of women whose occupation anyone could guess. Most had barely three stitches holding together their tunics' side-seams. I could see snake bracelets. None had beakers in front of them. They were not girlfriends out for a gossip; they were waiting for custom.

While the men talked family business, I concentrated on ordering what passed for snacks from a tired waitress who had not wanted to start serving this early. In a short tunic and bare feet, she had a button nose and a fine line in lethargy. I could not suppose she owned the bar, though if there was a landlord he never showed his face.

“I would like to know,” boomed Antistius, “whether Tullius has any money in his hands that rightly belongs to my wife?”

Tiberius had already told me that he had been very fond of his sister when they were growing up. He missed her after they were taken in by different relatives. He was sorry she married a man he could not stand, preventing Tiberius from visiting her. “Nothing of Fania's is managed by Uncle Tullius.”

“You certain?”

“Fania is well provided for, as you must know.”

“Main attraction when I married her!” bragged Antistius. Not the best way to impress her brother. Tiberius would rather she was valued as a good woman and loyal homemaker. She certainly was a dedicated mother; few of us could have loved those unhappy sons.

It was obvious Tiberius distrusted Antistius. The couple must have had the usual dowry. If Fania had inherited any other family property, Tiberius could have ensured her husband never heard about it. When their grandfather and parents died, legacies might have slyly remained not even with Tullius as Antistius suspected, but quietly looked after for Fania Faustina by her fond elder brother. If so, I wondered if she knew? Would it suit her that something of her own was squirreled away?

Up to a point I liked what I had seen of her, even though her husband infected her with his self-importance. If ever they reached a crisis, she would feel she had to stick with her marriage because of the three boys. I would never have done it; I would send Antistius a notice of divorce, encouraging him to exercise his paternal right to custody of the tiresome trio. Fania was trying to give her boys her ameliorating influence. It was pointless. They would grow up like Antistius.

The waitress brought what I had ordered, dumping a tray on our table. I placed beakers in front of everyone, then began pouring the drink I had asked for—posca, honeyed wine vinegar infused with herbs. Not enough herbs, I could immediately tell.

“Good gods, this is peasant fare! Army rations. I'd rather have wine!” Antistius declared. “We men should have ordered. Your girl has no idea, Faustus.”

“You can order what you want,” Tiberius replied calmly. “I have to work this afternoon. Albia knows that.”

Antistius jumped up and went to the counter, intent on finding something that suited him better; he clearly had not drunk much wine in Roman bars. With luck, he might actually pay for his own hooch. While he was away from us, I shuffled along the bench, nearer to Tiberius. He brushed my cheek briefly with a forefinger. I patted his thigh.

I noticed that Antistius took advantage of speaking alone with the waitress. He pretended he was asking for directions to the facilities; he probably believed he was discreet, but I was sure he asked how much it would cost to go upstairs with her. Her reply was loud enough for us to hear. “Sorry, I don't have time.”

I was intrigued that she did have a choice. It is all too easy to assume bar girls are forced to accommodate their customers whether they like it or not.

As Antistius rejoined us, I decided he really believed himself a perfect husband. He would never have done this in their home district, where Fania might hear about it. But in Rome it meant nothing. This was one of the city thrills a man could sample, just as his children were visiting the emperor's exotic animals and Fania had had her cithara concert.

Tiberius looked furious and disgusted. I made a moue to say there was no point in him saying anything.

The waitress went and spoke to the women at the other table. When she brought Antistius his wine flagon, she leaned over and told him, “I can fix you up with one of the Macedonian girls, if you want, sir.”

Antistius barely bothered to look sheepish. But as Tiberius scowled on his sister's behalf, he did decline.

He was offhand. The waitress looked annoyed. She had chosen to involve the whores, for nothing. She probably claimed a finder's fee if she introduced customers. But she had lost that, and then we heard them raucously abuse her when she went and reported that the client had chickened out.

 

XXXIII

Tiberius drained his posca cup and stood up so fast he nearly pushed the bench over backward with me still on it. I rose too, seeming to have more composure. Although this time I chose to play the gracious bride, it was temporary. If the brother-in-law ever came to Rome again, he was for it.

Tiberius threw coins on the table, clearly only enough for what he and I had had. “Since you found your own way here, I'll assume you can get back.” He strode off.

I gave the brother-in-law a nod, not bothering to make it look sincere. “We shall see you at the wedding.” I meant he had no chance of other socializing. Then I too walked over to the Hesperides.

Out of curiosity, I glanced back to see whether Antistius had changed his mind about the Macedonians. They were still there. He had gone. For Fania Faustina's sake, I was glad. I would not have wanted her to find she had a mysterious weeping disease. I would not want to see her bemusement when a doctor told her what it was.

She wrote to her brother regularly, with mild complaints about her life. I preferred not to have my new husband rampaging around our house after he had heard what ailment his horrified sister had acquired, and knew how she had caught it.

At the same time, I had been dreading what Tiberius would make of my more bothersome relations when he met them, so I felt comforted to know his were as bad.

Of course many a daft wife has thought “that makes us even then”—only to learn it does nothing of the kind. Still, he was a fair man. I often told people so.

*   *   *

Back at the bar, I sat out of the way of the workmen. After a while, I went out to see if any Macedonians were still at the Brown Toad, and then I went over to them.

I thought one was now missing. I could guess why. Now that I looked closely, what struck me about the rest was how young they all were, a couple barely past childhood. The career span of a working girl is short. They tend to start early and perish prematurely. At least I knew these floozies could not have been here when the Hesperides killings happened.

They were tall but scrawny and looked half-starved. Hailing from the homeland of Alexander the Great had not improved their luck in life. Most were blondish with good bone structure, though no one would call them beauties because their manners were so uncouth. They knew no better.

They stared at me as if I was something novel. I said I wanted to apologize for our brother-in-law messing them about. He was up from the country and a numbskull anyway. They pulled faces, agreeing the last part. Uninvited, I sat down with them, which they allowed. I expect they were bored. Any distraction was fine, until the next mark wandered along and responded to their catcalls.

I made it straightforward. I said I would buy them all an early lunch if they would talk to me. I saw raised eyebrows (they pared their brows to tiny charcoal lines) but none disagreed when I called over the waitress. I asked for wine and water, telling her to bring as much good food as the Brown Toad could come up with. I had few hopes, but it turned out there was a large pot of meaty stew bubbling on a brazier inside, which someone's grandma came in and made every day for the staff. The waitress openly expressed her unease about Faustus finding out, with him being a magistrate. Whispers had circulated through all the bars that while he was constantly around they should be careful.

I said if he didn't know, he couldn't fine anybody. Besides, his own fiancée was paying today, and I gave her the “fair man” story. We had a little extra conversation, because the grandma normally never gave the whores anything; they were visitors, like street pigeons. I put money on the table. In her own time the dreamy waitress served up steaming food bowls and a basket of bread. The Macedonians fell upon this fare as if they hadn't eaten properly since they sailed out of Thessalonica.