It would be rather inconvenient to me if her stories about Rufia had been invented. But I did not think so.
“So, Gavius, I expect you have heard we found bodies. At least it’s not you and your crew planted out in the garden. One is reckoned to be the barmaid, but five others look male. Faustus and I intend to find out who they are and what happened. We need witnesses. You have been regularly mentioned as one of the customers that night. I hope you can remember?”
“Oh yes.” Gavius had a darker expression now. “Thales suddenly had a go at us, so we stopped drinking there.”
“It was also the night Rufia disappeared.”
“That was another reason not to go any more.”
“People have described her as rather stern, but you liked her?”
“Kind of. She was a bloody good waitress. They had others there though.”
“If my sources are correct, Rufia also had, let’s say, a wide influence in the community?” Gavius looked blank. “Took a motherly interest in all the bar girls, and the professional prostitutes?”
He shrugged. Women’s stuff. Don’t ask him.
I knew he had had sex that night. Nipius and Natalis had said all the marble-suppliers went upstairs. Presumably it was regular. Rufia “looked after them,” though that could mean she found a free girl, not necessarily that she went with them herself.
I wondered if their nights out had ever resulted in pregnancies that Gavius knew nothing about. Women who slept with salesmen were not the kind who could name the fathers of their children. Afterward, if it went wrong, Rufia would have dealt with it; the salesmen would never even be told. Well, not unless a girl badly needed money to cover her expenses and came cooing round after cash. I bet with regular clients the girls kept quiet rather than deter these men from future business.
No doubt paying for abortions was another aspect of bar life that Julius Liberalis would call an overhead.
I could not help thinking about Chia. The threat of a baby was a much bigger issue for her. This was street life: men casual, women desperate.
I asked Gavius the crucial question: did he and his crew see another group of drinkers, five of them, at the Hesperides, the night Old Thales quarreled? But he said no, not while his crew were there; they must have arrived later.
XXXIX
The dogs began to let us know we were reaching their destination. The high road ended beneath a bunch of aqueducts. As we all passed through the Servian Walls at the Viminal Gate, the Three Graces became more excited than ever. They were distracted briefly by wanting to jump up and lick soldiers who were lazily monitoring the crowds under the arches. One of the troops gave them a bread roll, so they may have met these dogs before. Aglaia and Thalia sat pleading for more, while Euphrosyne devoured the free gift. From the way he handled them, roughing up their neck fur, the young soldier knew dogs. Perhaps back at home he had left animals he missed.
The Graces quickly lost interest, keen to move on. Outside the gate, Gavius turned onto the great parade ground of the Praetorians, which lies between the old city wall and the Guards’ intimidating camp. In the afternoon, they rarely exercised. Their numbers were low in any case, since many were away in Pannonia with the Emperor.
Gavius, Tiberius and I stood at a corner, taking a welcome breather, as the dogs hared around ecstatically. We watched, while they amused themselves in madcap games. From time to time, one or more galloped back to us, panting wildly, seeking approval or a stick to be thrown.
An informer must never give up, so I kept on badgering about the five dead men. “Gavius, I know the Hesperides, and presumably other bars, is a target for extortion by so-called ‘protection’ gangs. Were you ever aware of that?” He shook his head. Any wise person would do the same, unfortunately. Who likes gangsters to think you have ratted on them? Who wants to die now, in some very unpleasant fashion? “I am wondering if Old Thales decided he had had enough and struck back at them?”
Tiberius put in more questions: “Could it be that some other outfit tried to muscle in on the rackets? Rival crooks? But Thales stayed loyal, knowing old Rabirius, as someone has claimed?”
“I never heard of any rivals,” claimed Gavius. “But I have seen Thales and Rabirius having a chin-wag like best pals. They played a game of soldiers once when I was there. It’s true they went way back. I think they were boys together.”
“You know Rabirius?” I asked.
“To recognize. The ridiculous poser used to come around all the time, leaning on a cane for effect, inspecting his territory. Especially on the Esquiline, which was his real domain.”
“He is a brute?”
“Once in a while he would whack some slave or menial across the face with his cane, so people knew how hard he was. I saw him kick a woman once, knocked her right off her feet, though he wouldn’t try that in Thales’ bar. If Rufia was looking, she would have cut off his testicles. Haven’t seen him anywhere in a while. Like you say, he’s probably grown old and someone is taking over.”
I snorted. “I like the sound of Rufia. I cheer her methods … I suppose you saw Rabirius in action, Gavius, because you work with so many bars? Do landlords confide in you? Or do you overhear things?” Warily, he nodded. “Though at the Hesperides you never saw any threats, or money handed over?”
“Those kinds of men are always discreet,” Gavius replied. “You glimpse them behind the counter, talking to the landlord as if they are asking how his brother is these days or something-then they shake hands and leave without you even noticing.” He was hedging, like Liberalis earlier. This description belied his earlier claim to know nothing about enforcement. I decided not to challenge him. It was more important to keep him talking.
“Formal handshakes are a nice touch from men of violence!” Tiberius commented in a dry tone. “Maybe we could ask your colleagues if they know any more, the ones who drink with you?”
“I’m sure all the boys will say the same as me, Legate.”
“Please don’t confer,” I urged him. “Don’t suggest what to say. Better they spontaneously tell the truth.” Gavius looked affronted but did not argue.
“I am sure Gavius and his boys are straight, Albia.” Tiberius was playing his “fair man” role; I knew it was an act, for strategy.
I fell quiet, assessing the situation. Ten years ago, Rabirius was the vicious old clan chief-a different man from the failing specter he was reckoned to be now. Then he was strong, feared, fully in control, tentacles all over the place. Not only would he come around inspecting his domain, smilingly making himself visible, blatantly striking sudden blows to reinforce his message; he would also listen for any subversive mutters. Such men can be fanatically suspicious. They keep their power by constant vigilance. If Rabirius had been high-born, he could have become a paranoid emperor.
Thank you, Jupiter, he wasn’t. The gangster we had in power was bad enough.
Nowadays a clan coup seemed inevitable. No one had seen Rabirius for a while. He must be frail. A nephew called Roscius was starting to flex muscles in the business; Rabirius’ hard man, his dark sidekick Gallo, was keen to supplant young Roscius. Had machinations by henchmen and relatives already started at the time of the Hesperides trouble? Or was that too long ago?
Another possibility was that outsiders had tried maneuvering against Rabirius. Interlopers had tried to shuffle him out of the way, only to discover that, ten years ago, he was still capable of dispatching rivals. Why the Hesperides? Did Rabirius persuade his boyhood acquaintance Thales to cooperate? To provide a discreet location for a criminal death squad to ambush people? Was the graveyard in the garden the body dump after a bout of gang warfare?