Graveyard of the Hesperides by Lindsey Davis Page A

necessary for bars to obtain a great deal of fruit!”
    â€œHappy hour,” he returned lightheartedly. “Raining pomegranates. Cornucopia with every wine cup. Can you two remember anything else about when Rufia disappeared?”
    Artemisia and Orchivia reminded him they had not been in Rome then; it was even before they left their mountainous birthplace and went north to sell their valuable young virginities to the Fifth Macedonica and other fine legions in the Danube forts.
    â€œDespite the pleas of your weeping relatives?” Faustus suggested, being wicked as he went back to probing their lives.
    â€œOh, they couldn’t see us off fast enough.”
    â€œThey were heartbroken but they knew none of us had anything else to sell; for everyone’s benefit we had to sacrifice our little cherries. We were young. We looked as if we could be real virgins.”
    â€œAnd how many times did you manage to peddle those precious commodities before the randy soldiers twigged?”
    â€œAbout six or seven.”
    Orchivia claimed she could still sell hers if she put her mind to it, on a good night in winter when the lamps weren’t lit.
    Artemisia laughed hysterically at that. Then she mused, “One trumpeter bought mine twice.”
    â€œWhy was that?” inquired Faustus. “Because he enjoyed it so much the first time?” For a serious man, he could come out with comments that were very funny. But only I saw the joke.
    These were hard, untrustworthy, filthy, foreign working girls, yet Tiberius and I were in danger of feeling sorry for them. They, on the other hand, would lie, dodge, and diddle us at every opportunity. I saw no likelihood of squeezing anything more useful out of Artemisia and Orchivia today, so I said they could be off to wait at tables in the Four Limpets or wherever they had employment.
    â€œThe Brown Toad.”
    â€œJuno! You don’t care what dump you work in … I expect you know the old phrase, don’t leave town.”
    They looked puzzled.
    *   *   *
    As they were leaving, their paths crossed with those of two very different damsels. Strangely, both pairs nodded as they passed, each without being at all affronted by the other.
    Artemisia and Orchivia sashayed off, while we were joined by a dainty couple of young girls who shrieked, “Ooh what a horrible place!” They were thrilled.
    The Dardanians called back over their saucily bare shoulders that the Hesperides was indeed shitty. I would get the blame at home for this: my little sisters had learned a new catchphrase. “Just so shitty!”
    Orchivia popped back. “If you two think you’re going to work here, don’t even try it. We own the franchise!”
    I could feel Tiberius shaking with laughter.

 
    XIV
    Julia Junilla Laeitana had been given a third name because she was born in Spain where our father had had to deliver the baby himself and save our mother from near death—as he boringly reminded us on occasions. After these horrors, he badly needed to swig the local Laeitana wine and named his firstborn after it.
    Sosia Favonia was birthed at home by our two sober grandmothers, so only had two names, but that suited her because she was traditional; a private, austere girl, she regarded her sister as frivolous, not least for her excess of names. She was called Sosia for a long-dead cousin. There was some tragedy involved, so nobody used it. Don’t ask me to explain: some long-ago family business.
    Julia was sixteen, tall and slim, desperately bright. Favonia was fourteen, sturdy and gruff, with deep-grained, practical intelligence. I was old enough for us never to have squabbled; I had lived elsewhere for much of their childhood. When I visited home, they often did my hair, or altered my clothes and jewelry, as if I were a big doll in their toy collection. I loved them to bits.
    These were my daft, spoiled, innocent, lovely young sisters,