Graveyard of the Hesperides (40 page)

“I get it,” I said. “Rabirius was cheerily double-crossing his old friend. Gallo came along behind his chief's back, spelled out how Thales was being cheated, offering to help out. But Thales had to find someone to carry out the killing; he had to host the incident, and take all the risks.”

“Gallo's a smart operator!” Rufia scoffed. “And Thales was a fool. In the end, Gallo did practically nought.”

“So who did Thales commission for the deed?”

“That I don't know.” She must be lying, but I guessed she would never change her story. This woman was as tough as everyone said. She had spent ten years avoiding any comeback for that night at the Hesperides; she would not lose everything now by confessing.

“All right, change the subject. How did Thales persuade his killers?”

“Money, of course.”

“Oh what else! I understand why the Egyptians, but why Rhodina?”

Rufia spat. “That silly little cow. Juno, how I hated her. Girls who build their lives on cozying up to men … As it happened, she was dreaming. Thales was never prepared to share his cash. If he had been, let's face it, I would have tied him up myself. Sure, I despised him, but the money would have sweetened it.”

“You had earned your share.” I showed that I realized her situation. “You spent years running that bar on his behalf because he wasn't capable. He never gave you credit. You were only ever known as a barmaid.”

She grudgingly agreed. “And Rhodina would never be anything different, but the silly woman never saw that. Let's get on. So, those men came to the Hesperides, thinking it was a gambling night. Thales said the others weren't there yet, so while they waited for things to kick off, he got them drunk and we used Rhodina to distract them. The boys came in—”

“These boys whose names you never knew?”

“The same.”

“You didn't recognize them?”

“Oh no.” Barefaced lie.

“How did they kill the Egyptians?”

“Cut their throats. Slick and quick. They did for two before Rhodina, the idiot, started squealing at the blood. The rest were slurring and tipsy, but took in what was happening; one of them grabbed her. She couldn't move fast; she was a lump when she was pregnant. He broke her neck, so one of the boys broke his for him, then they finished off the rest in no time. Very professional. We laid the bodies in a line, ready for their graves. That's it.”

“Not quite. What about you, Rufia? Your disappearance?”

“Thales didn't know, but I already planned on leaving. What happened that night, well, I could bear it, I have a strong stomach, but that was enough aggravation for me. I told him I had put together such a nice little nest egg I was pissing off out of it. I was starting a new life and if he wanted to avoid trouble, he would agree to my plans. He was very surprised. Well, he didn't know that as well as my tips money and what I got from the lupin round, I'd taken extra from his bank box—he'd find that out later. I said I would never come back to bother him, so long as he cooperated. He was so weak and pathetic, he did. Be fair, he always honored the bargain afterward.”

“I bet it was your suggestion to behead Rhodina?”

“Of course. Chip, chop! That way, if the bodies were ever found, no one would realize it wasn't me who died.”

“Why pretend you were dead?”

“Oh … I just didn't want any fuss afterward.”

She would never admit the truth, but I thought she probably took more of a part in the deaths than she was claiming. She needed to flee. People could have fingered her for murder. If, despite her denial, she really knew who “the boys” were, they must have known her. I wondered, was it actually Rufia, not Thales, who had organized the killers?

“I suggested they take off that man's twisted leg, too, for the same reason,” she went on. “Just in case anyone came looking for the Egyptians. And I told Thales to remove their clothes and get rid of them.”

I told her they had cut off the wrong leg, to which she replied, that was men for you. Thales himself, probably. He was always an idiot. “Right, Flavia Albia, is that all you want?”

I had a few more questions, so started to shoot them at her. Wet through as I was, I felt frozen, while clearly her diseased joints would not support her weight much longer. We needed to conclude. Juno, I had to get back to that wedding.

I tackled recent events: who damaged the building site and who attacked Gavius—killed him, as his grandmother's message had now told me? Rufia claimed to know nothing about that.

What had happened to Rhodina's head? Rufia took it away with her. Nobody was told what she did with it; that was why Menendra, who remained her ally, went looking at her old room, in case it had been hidden there. “So what did you do with it?”

“Sent it to a farm. The pigs ate it. We couldn't take all the bodies, there were too many to move. People would notice. The cart might be stopped for inspection.”

“Someone tried to break in. Was that Menendra too?”

“No, her two men were leery. She asked someone else to do it, but they messed up. After that I arrived back and said she needn't bother.”

“Who first told you we had found the bones and made you come back? Was it Liberalis?”

She spat again. “Another idiot!”

“That bar attracts them … What happened to the children?”

Rufia admitted she took them. “They've grown up lovely. My boy's an accountant for the filthy rich; the girl is a musician. Respectable—she doesn't take her clothes off or go with the customers. She could have won a prize at the Neapolis Games, if they still held them.” They ended after Vesuvius erupted. “Of course she's that age now—boy-mad. I gave them good lives, Flavia Albia. I made up for everything.”

“Neapolis is where you went?” I deduced.

She agreed she had settled there in a discreet property; she ran a list of very high-class prostitutes that rich men in the expensive Bay of Naples villas could order for their beach parties. Exclusive call girls. “Clean. Well-groomed. Lovely manners. Sophisticated services.”

“I suppose you are good at it?”

“The best. They love me. I take good care of them.”

Yes, that was the Rufia I had heard about.

*   *   *

I considered trying to arrest her—difficult on my own. She watched me weigh up options, sneering at my helplessness. “I did nothing. I killed no one. All you can ever say against me is I knew the truth but never spoke of what I saw. I shall deny that.”

I would nevertheless have passed the story to the vigiles, but she caught me with her final thrust: she was now a good mother to two young people whose lives I would destroy if they lost her. Still too young to fend for themselves in respectable ways, they would be orphans at the mercy of a sordid world. Did Rufia know my own history? That was possible, if she had been talking to the Macedonians. I had spoken to them of my own horrible childhood. I could not wish that fate on anyone else, anyone who might instead be given a normal life, as I had been.

I do think Rufia knew. Certainly at the end she must have seen it in my face. On my wedding day, with my heart full of gratitude to Falco and Helena who gave me a second chance in life, Rhodina's innocent, living orphans had a claim that surpassed even obtaining justice for the dead. If the vigiles or anyone else worked out how Rufia was involved, she would have to take her chances. I myself would make no further move against her.

We had finished. I accepted this was as much as I would ever know.

We went out together through the decastyle gabled porch, across one enclosure to the second, where her carrying chair now stood alongside another. Poor Tiberius must have read my message. My bridegroom had sent transport to fetch me back to him.

We parted. As the splashing bearers cursed and hurried home through the wet, deserted streets, in the privacy of the carrying chair I gave way to long-ago sorrows and I wept.

 

LXI

People were already gathering outside the house. Everyone loves a torchlit procession with obscene jokes and songs. I was glad to see a small crowd, despite the weather. For us, making a racket on the Aventine was the whole point of today. It was just about fine still but heavily overcast and thunder growled, further along the Tiber.

I rushed in. I fled upstairs. While I was drying off as best I could and re-dressing in my bridal clothes, Tiberius came. He was cradling a wine cup. “Tiberius Manlius, dear heart, you look like a desperate man whose wife has left him.”

“During the wedding—the ignominy!”

“I am sorry.” I truly was.

“Well, you came back.” The gray eyes were quiet. “Is this how our life will be?”

“Not if I can help it … Next time you can come along.”

“I appreciate that … Well, I knew who I was marrying. When I read Prisca's message, I saw you had no alternative. I would have followed, but I felt at least one of us ought to be here for our guests!” The reproach was muted. “Come here.” He straightened my half-dead garland, then took hold of me and kissed me, letting me know how glad he was to see me. “So did Rufia tell all?”

“Yes, except I could not persuade her to admit who carried out the killings. Forget it,” I said, holding that dear man's face between my hands, smiling tenderly for him. “Let us go down for our procession.”

“Ready?”

“All yours, husband.”

“Hmm. I hope nothing else happens,” he replied, rather warmly.

*   *   *

Some of the guests had never noticed me missing. They had had all the food and drink they could take. To amuse them further during the afternoon, my father had hired the fabulous Stertinius.

“I don't think we needed to hear him twice!” blared Antistius. He was jealous that my parents had, apparently without effort, managed to secure a private concert from this sought-after virtuoso.

Fania Faustina and Antistius must once have had a wedding like ours. Perhaps they were equally full of hope at the time—yet this week he had thought nothing of asking a Rome waitress for paid sex. For a wild moment I thought,
There is no way you can know
. However sure of each other Tiberius and I felt at this moment, anything could happen …

You have to have faith.

“Albiola!” murmured Tiberius, as if he knew what I was thinking.

Then he and I were swept up and put in a private room, where the fabulous Stertinius improvised on his cithara especially for us. My mother had devised this.

Close to, this time we could watch his hands, feel his emotion, hear every fine note. He played almost as if it was for his own pleasure, yet allowing us an intimate share in his skill. The music seemed to reverberate right through us, carrying us into rhapsody. For the first time that day we had private time together, sitting in silence, holding hands. Our souls emptied, then filled up with love. Stertinius was enjoying his own talent and mastery. Sometimes he tossed off shimmers of notes almost arrogantly, then he pulled back into meticulous, skillful patterns. After that he would turn to us with a half smile, deliberately serenading us as the bridal couple with his exquisite music.

When he finished we emerged, stunned, for our procession. It started to rain again. Well, of course. However, the resourceful men of my family had spent hours that afternoon making a large canopy. Supported on four poles, it would be carried over me, to protect me on my journey to my new home. They explained proudly that they had even put taller poles at the front, so when water collected on the roof it would run backward and cascade off safely behind me.

The front doors were opened just as the determined drizzle started. Gathered outside were many friends and colleagues. Some, like the victimarii, had left earlier but returned for the procession. There were Tiberius' workmen, people I knew in Fountain Court, Rodan, our horrible porter at the Eagle Building, members of the vigiles.

Those taking part in the procession itself were bossily marshalled by my father and Uncle Petro. My cousin Marius, Maia's son, was playing his flute. A marriage hymn was sung, rather raggedly. The bridegroom took me with a show of force from Mother's arms (those Sabine women have so much to answer for).

“Try harder, Albia, you're not struggling enough!”

“Oh, just take her!” cried Mother, shoving me into his grasp. I felt like a wool sack in a shepherds' dispute.

I was led under my canopy, a dry haven. Behind me Julia Junilla Laeitana bore the damned distaff and spindle. My brother Postumus was trying to control the naughty nephews; at least they would not set anywhere on fire, not in this rain. Two of the little boys, who had been eating something sticky, took my hands, while one in front brandished the torch.

“Hawthorn, I hope?”

“No, oleander. Closest we could find.”

Tiberius set off first. I felt a momentary pang, not wanting to be parted from him. He was distributing to the crowd nuts, sweetmeats and sesame cakes, which Dromo had in a sack on his handcart. Dromo, I heard afterward, kept back as many cakes as possible, which he then hoarded.

I too began walking, amidst cheers and wild laughter. Walking fast at first, because everyone wanted to get out of the rain. Soon slowing as I had to climb the steep stairs to the Aventine summit.

Along the route, rude songs called the Fescennine verses were sung; they would have been much ruder if anybody had known the words. Improvising feebly, the crowd also shouted the ancient marriage cry, or since it is “obscure,” they simply shouted. Once up the hill, I dutifully dropped a coin as an offering to the crossroad gods, if they could ever find it in that enormous puddle.

The Aventine is extremely steep, especially on the cliff side. You just try it, wearing a very long, soaking wet skirt and new saffron shoes you are trying to keep out of puddles. After we climbed the Stairs of Cassius, we turned past the Temple of Juno the Queen (hail, goddess of matrimony). That took us in a detour down the Street of the Armilustrium, until we passed around the back of the Temple of Liberty and into the Vicus Altus, by definition a high point on the hill. We came out in Lesser Laurel Street, turning left briefly so we could make a show at the Temple of Ceres.