Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  Bright-eyes hadn't been any six-year-old, that was for sure. 'His wife, then,' I said. 'She small, slim, dark hair, dark eyes?'

  He nodded. 'That's Vesia.'

  Shit; this could be tricky. 'Navius was found on Clusinus's land,’I said. ‘I understand that he had, uh, a liking for feminine company. I wondered whether maybe you thought there might be a possibility that he might've conceivably dropped by for a visit. A social visit.'

  Mamilius had picked up his cup but he wasn't drinking. He didn't say anything for a long time, just sat looking at me like I'd crawled out from under a rock, and nonagenarian or not his look had me sweating. Finally, he put the cup down.

  'No, I don't,' he said. Just that, but the tone told me the subject was closed. Closed, locked and buried.

  'Ah, yeah. Yeah, right.' I swallowed. Sure, the question had had to be asked, but the country isn't Rome. Cast aspersions on the local womenfolk and you're liable to lose your teeth, fast; and I reckoned I'd just come within spitting distance of losing mine. 'Fine, pal, fine. That's all I wanted to know.'

  His hand bunched round the wine cup, and I had the unpleasant feeling that he'd rather it was my throat. 'Listen, Corvinus,' he said. 'Vesia's a good woman and a good wife, right? She could've left that shiftless bastard years ago for someone better but she didn't. And if she ever did take up with anyone else it wouldn't be effing Attus Navius. Besides –'

  He stopped speaking. Suddenly, like his mouth had just welded up. I waited, but there was nothing else. He picked up the wine cup, emptied it at a gulp and poured us some more.

  Time for a change of subject. Or at least the same subject from a different angle. 'So what was Navius doing up Clusinus's road in the first place?' I said.

  'He wasn't necessarily up Clusinus's road at all. Not as such.'

  I frowned. 'You've got me there.'

  'When it leaves Clusinus's property the track turns left and follows the foothills. The Navius place is on the slopes to the west, and the track runs past it. Navius could just as well've been coming the other way and heading for the main road.'

  Yeah. That was something I hadn't thought of not knowing the topography, but it made sense. If the guy had been going to Caere, say, it would've been six of one and half a dozen of the other which way he went, especially if he were on foot. Maybe the fact that he'd been knifed on Clusinus's land wasn't relevant after all. Still, that was something I could check: if he had come by the main road there was a chance that he'd been seen. By one or both of the Gorgons, maybe. These two had looked the type who wouldn't miss much.

  'The pair of ladies in the house along the road,' I said. 'Who would they be, now?'

  'The Gruesomes?' Yeah, well, I'd been close, and Mamilius's temper seemed to have improved now we'd got off Vesia. 'Gaius Vipena's sisters. The elder one's Tanaquil, the younger's Ramutha.'

  'Good old Etruscan names.'

  'Believe it.' He chuckled like a badly-greased hinge. 'Good old Etruscan family. With the accent on "old". Vipena's the local augur, and he's got a family tree that goes back to the time of the Tarquins. So he claims, anyway. They even speak Etruscan at home.'

  'Yeah?' Now that was really weird: no one, but no one spoke Etruscan these days barring the Wart's nephew Claudius, and that guy was barking crazy in any language. 'That all there is of them? Just the three?'

  'Vipena's never married. And no one with any sense would want to bed either of these vinegary bitches.'

  'Uh-huh.' I looked up. The sun was well over to the right hand side of the trellis. It was getting late, and Perilla would be more than curious about what the hell was going on. 'One last thing, friend. For now, at least.' I took the knife I'd got from Nepos out of my belt. 'You recognise this at all?'

  Mamilius took it from me and turned it over in his gnarled fingers. 'This what the lad was killed with?'

  'Yeah.'

  He shrugged and handed it back. 'Could be his own,' he said. 'Navius had one like that, sure, but so does half the district.' He reached into his own belt and pulled one out that was practically a ringer, its blade honed almost concave and sharp as a razor. 'Gaius Tullius the cutler over in Caere makes them by the dozen.'

  Ah, well; another bummer. Still, I couldn't really expect that whoever had shoved his knife into the guy would've left it there to be traced back. And if the knife was Navius's own, of course, the murderer had probably have been keen to get rid of it anyway. 'Would anyone know for sure?' I said. 'If it was his, I mean?'

  Mamilius hesitated. Again I got that fleeting impression that he was going to say something and decided against it. 'Your best bet would be the lad's mother,' he said. 'But maybe under the circumstances that's not such a hot idea.'

  'Yeah.' I got up and took a silver piece out of my purse to pay for the wine. 'Well, it doesn't matter. I'd best be getting back. Thanks for the information.'

  'You're welcome. Any time.'

  The Gruesomes weren't in evidence when I rode past. Maybe it was just as well: I doubted if they would've taken too kindly to a strange man trespassing on their virgin modesty. This was a job for Perilla, or maybe for both of us, since I might want to follow up that one question with others. We could sort of drop by by accident tomorrow.

  Meanwhile I had a lot to think about. Like for example what Mamilius had been very careful not to say about Attus Navius.

  4.

  Perilla was still on the terrace with Aulus Caecina when I got back, but she rolled him up when she saw me and lifted her mouth for the traditional welcome-home smacker. Bathyllus was hovering with the wine tray as per standing orders. I sat down and let him pour me a belt of Flatworm's best.

  'Well?' Perilla said.

  I gave her the basic run-down.

  'What on earth did he think he was doing?' she said when I'd finished. 'The silly, silly man!'

  'That's our Priscus.' I downed a swallow of the Caeretan. 'The guy ought to wear ear plugs to stop the wind blowing through.'

  'So what can we do?'

  'Find the real killer. Oh, sure, the chances are when the case comes to court the jury'll take one look at the poor old bugger and throw it out the window, but if they don't then Priscus could be in real trouble. On the other hand if I can give them the guy who did it neatly parcelled up with a bow round him then we're laughing.'

  'Corvinus, we are on holiday! I am not going to sit at home twiddling my thumbs while you go traipsing around digging the dirt. Let alone wash the blood off you when you get your silly head bashed in for being, to use your own expression, a smartass.'

  I was shocked. You don't expect language like that from respectable Roman matrons, certainly not when they've got Perilla's wide vocabulary.

  'Uh, yeah,' I said. 'Well, actually –'

  'And what about Marilla? The poor girl's tucked away most of the time in the Alban hills. When she goes on holiday she expects a bit of excitement.'

  I tried not to grin. The Princess loved it up at Perilla's Aunt Marcia's with the sheep and the chickens; it was why we'd left her there instead of dragging her off to Athens after we'd adopted her, and although Marcia would've surrendered her without a murmur losing the kid would've hit the old girl hard.

  'Yeah,' I said. 'All those tombs. And I hear the smart set in Rome are coming to Caere this year instead of going to boring old Baiae. In fact, they say that the Wart's travelling up specially from Capri for the annual cheese-rolling festival.'

  'There is no such thing as an annual cheese-rolling festival!'

  'There is now. As of this year. That and goat-pitching. The local Caeretan Committee for the Propagation of Tourism's reviving all the traditional Etruscan sports. King Porsenna of Clusium was the Etruscan League's all-comers' goat-pitching champion five years running. Your pal Caecina didn't mention that?'

  'Corvinus –' Perilla's lips were beginning to tremble.

  'Then there's Guess How Many Hedgehogs in the Amphora, the five-a-side Pass-the-Bean, Juggling the Marrow and Sausage,...'

  'Marcu
s, stop it!'

  '...the Wives of the Committee of Ten Freestyle Naked Mud-wrestling, the launderers' guild's Spot the False Nose Competition, the...'

  'Marcus!'

  '...fluteplayers' Eat All the Doughnuts You Can Manage In One Breath, and finally the Mule and Monkey Hundred Yard Hurdles. Yeah. You're quite right, Perilla. Maybe the kid would miss out.'

  'What's the Mule and Monkey Hundred Yard Hurdles?'

  I turned round. Marilla had come out onto the terrace with Corydon in tow.

  'Oh, hi, Bright-Eyes,' I said, ignoring Perilla creased up in the other chair. 'Sorry. Joke. I thought Alexis was getting rid of that moth-eaten couch cover.'

  'He hasn't found the owner yet.' Marilla helped herself to a handful of early grapes from the bowl on the table and fed half of them to Corydon. 'Who did Priscus kill?'

  'A guy called Attus Navius. Only he didn't.'

  She looked disappointed. 'There was no murder after all?'

  'No. There was a murder all right. But Priscus didn't do it.'

  'Then who did?'

  'I don't know. That's what I'm trying to find out.' I glanced at Perilla. She'd stopped hugging her ribs and she was a better colour. Also she wasn't grouchy any more. 'We.'

  '"We"?' Perilla said.

  'Yeah.' I took a fortifying swig of wine. 'That's what I was going to say before you sidetracked me, lady. Hold the thumb-twiddling. I need your social skills to butter up a couple of elderly spinsters tomorrow. You think you can manage that?'

  'I don't know. I might if I were given a good enough reason.'

  Yeah, well; that was fair. I told her about the roads difficulty. 'If Ramutha and Tanaquil didn't see Navius then it doesn't prove anything, one way or the other. But if they did then the odds are he was headed for Clusinus's place as such, or at least had business on the guy's property. And the combination of his reputation for a roving eye, the honey I saw with the basket and Clusinus being off hunting is too good to pass up.'

  'You said Mamilius discounted that possibility.'

  'Yeah.' I topped the cup up from the jug. 'But I wouldn't necessarily take what that old guy said as hard fact. Oh, he wasn't lying, but where this Vesia's concerned he obviously has stars in his eyes. It happens more often than you'd think with these regular army types, boiled leather slit-your-throat-if-you-cross-them one minute, soft as Suburan grandmothers the next. And he didn't like young Navius at all.'

  'What makes you think that?'

  'Nothing specific. He didn't actually say anything bad about the guy, but I'd bet a barrel of fish sauce to a corn plaster he was holding himself in. In fact for all the impression he gave of being ready and eager to spill the local beans when it came to it old Mamilius was pretty tight-mouthed.' I took another swallow of wine. 'Ah, hell. Leave it for the moment. What time's dinner?'

  'Early. I thought we'd have it out here. Meton's making a hare and squash casserole.'

  'Great.' I looked at Marilla, who was feeding more grapes to her pal the mule. The bastard was being good as gold at present, but I didn't trust him an inch. 'Alexis struck out, you say, Bright-Eyes?'

  'He's been trying all afternoon, asking round the local farms, but no one he's talked to so far knows anything about it.' She stroked Corydon's neck while he tucked into our cream-of-the-crop dessert. 'Can't we keep him if he isn't claimed? He wouldn't be any trouble.'

  Gods alive. One look at the set of the bugger's ears and the permanent sneer on his face would be enough to convince any reasonable person just how valid that prediction was. But then where animals were concerned the Princess wasn't a reasonable person. Corydon could've been guilty of the muline equivalent of first-degree sacrilege, multiple murder and five separate counts of grand larceny and in her eyes he'd still be a snow-white innocent. Sure, if he kept at it then Alexis would come up trumps eventually, but there was a big stretch of country out there, and it was filled to bursting with small farms, especially the flat land between us and the coast. If Corydon was a real stray we could be talking long term, and I had a sneaking suspicion that that would be bad news. I felt like the guy in the story that the king gave an elephant to and who couldn't get rid of it.

  The Princess was still looking at me. I swallowed and put my best judgment aside. 'Yeah, well,' I said. 'Give it two days. Tomorrow and the next. If Alexis still hasn't had any luck then subject to later developments I reckon we'll've done all we could. Deal?'

  'Deal.' She kissed me solemnly. 'Come on, Corydon. Let's see if we can find you a lettuce.'

  They started off in the direction of the kitchen garden. That took them past Perilla, who was still sitting with Caecina in her lap. The mule's head snaked round...

  Perilla squealed.

  'Corydon!' The Princess was pulling at Caecina's end-roller while the mule's teeth got busy editing the text. 'Bad boy! Drop it! Drop!'

  There was a ripping sound, then silence except for the rhythmic chomping of jaws and a sort of muline snigger. Shit. There went a lifetime's work, three hundred years' worth of collated scholarship and the entire recorded achievements of a once-proud nation.

  'Oh, Perilla, I'm sorry!' Marilla was still tugging at the bit of Caecina which still projected from the mule's mouth. The mule pulled it away from her with a jerk of his head and carried on eating. 'He didn't know what it was!'

  I don't think I've ever been so proud of Perilla. At this point anyone else but the Princess – including me – would've been a small glowing pile of ash on the flagstones and all the wildlife for miles would be headed at speed in the general direction of Parthia. Jupiter alone knew what would've happened to the mule. But not an eyelid did the lady bat.

  'Never mind, dear,' she said. 'It can't be helped.'

  Marilla led Corydon off, still busy with his textual criticism. I gave her a couple of minutes then sneaked a glance at Perilla. She was staring out over the plain towards Pyrgi and the coast in the distance.

  'Marcus, you've heard of Cilnius Maecenas, I suppose?' she said after a while.

  I cleared my throat nervously. It was quiet; too quiet, like there'd just been an earthquake and the world hadn't decided yet whether it was still in one piece. 'Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Augustus's pal. What about him?'

  'He wrote poetry in his spare time. He's also supposed to have introduced the eating of donkey flesh as a delicacy at banquets.'

  'Is that right, now?'

  'His poetry was considered to be trite, badly constructed, trivial in theme, and totally unoriginal.' Perilla picked up a half-eaten book-roller from the ground and set it carefully on the table beside her. 'Personally I think he's grossly underrated.'

  'Yeah?'

  'Yes. I thought I might just tell you that.'

  'Uh, yeah. Thanks.'

  'And no quips about that animal having excellent taste in literature, please. I'm not up to them at present.

  'It never even occurred to me.'

  'Good.' She brushed the papyrus fragments from her mantle and stood up. 'Now I think I'll just go upstairs for five minutes and have a quiet scream.'

  She left.

  Ah, well. You win some, you lose some. Grinning, I reached for the wine jug.

  5.

  Perilla and I went to Nepos's next day via the spinsters'. We took the coach: left to myself I'd've walked, and unlike your standard Roman matron Perilla is a pretty willing and competent hoofer, but I'd bet that the Gruesomes were sticklers for the proprieties, and if we'd turned up on the doorstep sweaty and covered with dust we'd just have got another of these hundred-candelabra stares and the bum's rush. Lysias the coachman had been warned to do things right for once, with no slouching in the box scratching his armpit while the master opened his own door, and he rose to the occasion. We pulled up in front of Ramutha and Tanaquil's terrace like visiting royalty and de-carriaged in style.

  The sisters were shelling beans: whatever arcane practices the augur's household indulged in they sure as hell weren't Pythagorean-based. Close up, I could see what Mamilius had meant
by vinegary: personally I'd never actually come across such a thing as a life-sized pickled gherkin before, but if I ever did I reckon it would've been tough to spot the difference.

  'Yes?' said the psoriatic one with the mole. Friendly as hell. You'd've thought we'd come specially to steal the spoons.

  Perilla introduced us while I kept to the background and smiled. Bringing the lady with me had been a stroke of genius: you could almost hear the crackle as the ice melted.

  'And so we thought, or rather Marcus thought,' she finished, 'that we would take the liberty of paying a brief visit. It's so important, don't you feel, when one is on holiday, to make the acquaintance of the right type of people.'

  They blossomed like December roses. The one with the mole – that was Tanaquil, the elder; Ramutha was the eggbound hen – even patted her iron-hard bun. We were whisked inside and plied with honey wine and cinnamon cake. The cake wasn't bad, but the honey wine set my teeth on edge. Gods, I hate that stuff!

  Perilla did most of the talking, which was fine by me. Half an hour in we'd covered, in order, what a terrible place Rome was (parties going on until all hours, even after sunset, sometimes, so they'd heard, would that be right, now?), how Athens wasn't much better (Perilla's contribution, much appreciated), how things had deteriorated since they were girls forty years ago ('But you're much too young, Perilla my dear, to remember that!'), how even in a quiet, decent place like Vetuliscum people nowadays actually had the bad manners to get murdered...

  'But then of course,' Tanaquil said with a sniff, 'he brought it on himself.'

  'It's his mother I feel sorry for.' Ramutha was cutting another slice of cinnamon cake. 'Such a nice woman. Her side of the family always was most respectable.'

  I bit down hard on my tongue. I noticed that Perilla, her job done, had her eyes lowered and was sipping her honey wine.

  'Most respectable.' Tanaquil's thin lips were pursed above the rim of her cup. 'I really do not understand why that brazen hussy's husband doesn't take a stick to her.'