I sighed, but only to myself. In the fifteen years I had lived as one of the Didii I had become used to gifts with some perceived tribal connection. Anything British, Gallic, Belgic or German, or from anywhere the people looked goggle-eyed in their ethnic art, was deemed especially appropriate for me. Sometimes I pointed out that I wanted to forget mystic Britannia, scene of my tragic childhood. That made no difference.
My sisters were staring at me with new uncertainty. Julia had the most sensitivity. “Oh no! You don’t think Tiberius is a torque man?”
“I am sure. He is very traditional.”
“Father has a torque.”
I huffed. “It was a gift from a crazy king. Does Falco wear it? No, he has placed it around the neck of his bust of the Emperor Vespasian in his study. Don’t you remember the fuss, because the necklace got bent in the process?”
“Well what instead? We spent ages and ages thinking up that idea. It seemed so perfect.”
“Time spent in thought is never wasted, darlings … Do you know what Tiberius intends to give me?”
“He claims it is a surprise. We bet he hasn’t organized anything.”
“He will.” I would not waste energy hoping for earrings; his last gift to me was a stone bench. Exactly what I wanted at the time, and we were not even lovers then. Mind you, it was glaringly obvious we would be.
“So, what for him? Albia. Albia, Albia, choose something!”
It came to me of its own accord. When I was ill recently, while he nursed me, he had sometimes read, either to himself when I was sleeping or out loud to entertain me. Horace, he liked. I remembered parts of Juvenal. Cicero’s brother on how to win votes in elections. We were close to the Argiletum, supposed home to many scroll-sellers, which would be convenient for the purchase. “I shall give him a book.”
The girls were entranced. “Oh-love poems! You are brilliant. That is such a good wheeze.”
“No. Favonia, settle down and listen to me. Love poetry is either about love miserably denied, or a dead spouse, or it’s too pornographic so Tiberius couldn’t show people what he received. And on the whole it’s terrible to read.”
They groaned. “So what then?”
“He likes to know everything. I shall give him Pliny’s Natural History. That purports to contain all the world’s knowledge.”
There was a pause. “It’s an encyclopedia.”
“Shitty shit, Albia. Isn’t it absolutely gigantic?”
“Don’t swear. Thirty-seven scrolls, I believe. He will think this is very romantic, I promise you. Don’t tell him.”
“Oh, Albia!”
“Do not tell him, Julia!”
My sisters were horrified by my grand idea. They wanted to argue. However, I sent them packing. A man had arrived over the road at the Garden of the Hesperides. From the way he was measuring up the bar counters, he must work with Gavius. I said I had to go.
I shepherded my sisters back into the chair, allowed them to lean out and kiss me goodbye, then I exchanged greetings gravely with Katutis, asking him to secretly fix up the encyclopedia purchase. By that time Tiberius and our foreman, Larcius, were outside the bar, in conversation with the newcomer.
His name was Appius. He was another hefty man in dusty clothes, one of the colleagues who had been present the night Old Thales quarreled with Gavius. I went on the alert. That meant Appius knew, and had been entertained by, Rufia. He had been here shortly before the six dead people met their fates. I held back during the professional building talk, but I was waiting. Appius could tell me his version of what happened that night.
He was supposed to meet Gavius here this morning. They would confirm what repairs could be done, then work out costs. Strictly speaking this was a separate job, directly done for Liberalis, but Tiberius would oversee it as part of the main works.
I knew why. Project managers do not like two separately hired sets of builders on their site, in case of conflicts. Fair enough. Informers feel exactly the same way about other people getting under our feet and pinching our materials. My clue is not your clue, sonny. Shove off and eavesdrop on somebody else.
Gavius had said he would meet Appius for a bite beforehand. He never showed up. Appius kept muttering it was extremely unusual.
After a while, we could no longer ignore this. When Gavius still failed to put in an appearance, surprise became puzzlement, then concern. “This is just not like him. Gavius never lets people down. He may have been delayed, but I’m beginning to think something must have happened…”
In the end, I suggested we should walk along to Mucky Mule Mews to look for him.
XLIV
Gavius was a likeable man, with decent parents. I really did not want to see him harmed. But as soon as we reached the end of the alley, we knew.
Women were standing out on their doorsteps. A small knot of short, wide, horrible men with whips must be mule-drovers. A couple of raggedly dressed little children sat in the gulley by the nonexistent pavement, watching the adults. Everyone seemed to be waiting. They stood and stared. They knew something was wrong. Nobody took the initiative. I’d like to say it would never have happened on the Aventine, but around Fountain Court it would have been worse; people would have shrugged and quickly gone on their way.
Neither of his parents was visible, thank goodness.
We went up to his door, where we learned what had attracted local attention. Inside, the two dogs who lived with him were howling incessantly. The double sound was so insistent, so mournful, hairs stood on end in response.
We knocked. This produced even more frantic noises from the dogs indoors. Occasional heavy thumps suggested they had thrown themselves against the door. In between the barks, they were now whining desperately.
My two male companions decided who must go to the parents to ask for a spare latch-lifter: me, of course. Appius must have known the old couple, yet he did not volunteer. I wanted us simply to break down the door, but was persuaded against that. Off I went dutifully, to somehow obtain the gadget without mentioning why we all thought it might be necessary. “Aglaia and Thalia have been barking all night, disturbing people. Appius is afraid Gavius is ill, too many bar snacks maybe. We’re just going in to see what is worrying the dogs…”
We could guess.
Gavius lay inside. His two distressed dogs were coursing around him. When we went in, they broke off and skittered up to us, making frantic noises and knocking into one another, but to our relief neither was aggressive. We tried calming them, talking to them by name. They at once resumed their howling and agitated running around their master.
He was lying on the floor. He must have been there all night. I saw blood. Not in great quantities, but on his tunic and all around his head.
I managed to grab the dogs’ collars and hauled back hard to hold them. I had wondered if they would defend him against us, but we already knew these hulks were friendly; they made no attempt to stop us, though paws scrabbled hard on the floorboards when Tiberius went over. I was having trouble keeping them in check; they were so strong. Appius stood beside me, horrified, not helping.
Tiberius knelt beside Gavius for what seemed a long time. He felt the man’s neck for vital signs, tested his wrists for a pulse, murmured something inaudible, then closed the eyes respectfully. He straightened.
“What happened?”
“Stabbed in the neck.” It must have been quick or there would have been more blood. Something slender. Pocket fruit knife? Reed-pen cutter? A blade you could hide about your person to avoid the law. I saw no sign of this weapon. Taken away afterward.
“Oh, Gavius, Gavius old mate!” Appius crooned. His loss had him shaking his head over and over; we heard hopeless moans of protest. Gavius should not be dead.
Tiberius steadied him. “Appius, I want you to run for a doctor. Just to make sure, but ask him to come quickly. Say an aedile requests it-and of course will pay for his visit.”