Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  'Has he? What exactly would he gain by killing Navius? It wouldn't get him the vineyard back.'

  'It might open up a space for him. I've met Navius's mother, remember. She's got no other kids, she's not from around here originally, and she's a fancy fish in a muddy pool. Sure, she might decide to work the property herself through an agent, but it wouldn't surprise me if she didn't sell up and move somewhere the locals don't scratch their armpits and stink of garlic. In that case the fifty-year deadlock's broken. Arruns might be able to come to an arrangement with the new owner, especially if the guy's persistence is the constant embarrassment Sicinia says it is. And there's another thing. Navius's father didn't die from natural causes, or not in the narrow definition. The guy met with an accident out riding and bust his skull.'

  Perilla stared at me. 'You think it could have been murder?'

  'It's a possibility. Both male relatives unnaturally dead inside a year is pushing coincidence. Arruns was getting nowhere fast through legal channels, and he's no spring chicken. Maybe he decided it was time to change his tactics.'

  'Corvinus, you have an over-suspicious mind.'

  'Yeah. Admitted. It would fit, though. And Arruns is definitely on the hook.' I topped up my wine cup. 'Next. Quintus Mamilius.'

  'Mamilius is a nonagenarian!'

  'He's a nonagenarian ex-First Spear. That makes a difference. These guys are no shrinking violets, even at ninety, and Mamilius is as tough as old boots. Certainly he's got a hell of a motive: Attus Navius put his granddaughter in the family way and she died of it.'

  'You don't know that for certain.'

  'Mamilius seems to. In any case he hated the boy's guts. And Navius's father dying the way he did and when he did fits too. The bastard refused to marry his son to the girl because she didn't come up to social scratch.' I took a mouthful of wine. 'Added to which, Mamilius needn't've done either of the killings himself. I've seen the guy's son. He's built like a rhino and takes orders like a lamb.'

  Perilla chewed thoughtfully on an olive. 'You're right,' she said. 'There are too many suspects.'

  I reached for the wine jug. 'I haven't finished yet, lady. There're still Vipena and Clusinus.'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake!'

  I ignored her. 'Let's take Vipena. He's a vine-grower like Papatius, and Navius's scheme would hit him in the pocket as well. Also he quarrelled with the guy just before he died.'

  'By his own admission.'

  'Only because I caught him out through my extensive knowledge of Etruscan. That yarn about the dried-up spring and trying to buy into the water rights may be straight enough, but if it's the full story I'll eat my sandals. The bastard was covering. What he was covering I don't know yet, but I mean to find out. And I've got a gut feeling about our liver- reader. He knows more than he's telling, and he's crooked as a Suburan dice game.'

  'Really?'

  'Cut the sarcasm. You want to bet?'

  Perilla sighed. 'No, dear, I don't. You have the most annoying habit of being right about things like that, completely against the run of common sense.'

  I grinned. 'Last, Clusinus. In some ways he's the most obvious of all. Certainly he had opportunity. The murder happened on his own property, he'd arranged to meet Thupeltha at the same time but he didn't turn up. And finally he was the guy who most opportunely caught Priscus with the corpse. As far as motive's concerned –'

  'He'd been hunting. Priscus said he had the game with him.'

  'He could've been out all day. A pair of bustards isn't much, not this time of year. And whatever applies to Papatius applies to him. He could've arrived when Thupeltha and Navius were having their argument, stayed hidden to listen, then instead of keeping the appointment followed the kid and murdered him. The knife would make sense, too. He'd've overheard Navius threatening suicide, so even if he'd used his own knife he could've replaced it with Navius's to bolster up the story. Then all he'd've had to do was go away for half an hour and come back when it was all over.'

  'Why should he?'

  'Why should he what?'

  'Come back. If he really was the murderer. If he knew the corpse was lying there surely it would have been safer to keep well away. How could he be sure it had already been found?'

  Yeah; the lady had a point. I'd been up that bit of the track, from the bottom, at least, and the place where Navius's body was was tucked away out of sight of the higher reaches. Hell. 'Maybe he saw Priscus coming and let him get there first.'

  'Or maybe he didn't know the corpse was there at all.'

  Right. Bugger. Failing Papatius, I liked Clusinus, I liked him a lot. But Perilla was spot on; that was a problem. I wished now that I'd walked that last bit of track, the stretch between Navius's place and the summit of the hill, to check the line of sight absolutely. Still, I could always do that tomorrow.

  Perilla was looking thoughtful again. 'Marcus,' she said, 'one thing does puzzle me about this business.'

  'Just one?'

  'What about alibis? Navius must have been killed within a very narrow space of time, an hour at most. Wouldn't it be sensible simply to ask everyone where they were and if anyone could confirm it?'

  Fair question. 'Yeah, it would be,' I said. 'Very.'

  'So why not do it?'

  I sighed. 'Two reasons. First, because officially this isn't my investigation and if I tried the buggers would quite rightly tell me to go and stick my nose somewhere else. End of interview. Aternius might've got away with it, sure, but Aternius has his man already. Second, because at this time of year any self-respecting farmer's out in his own fields and his own boss. There wouldn't be anyone to confirm. Sure, if Clusinus had been at home his wife and kids might've...' I stopped. 'Shit.'

  Perilla looked at me. 'What is it?'

  I waved her to silence. Oh, Jupiter! Jupiter, it was beautiful! I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and it was my own fault.

  I'd been making one glaringly stupid mistake all along: I'd equated sex with love. And because I'd done that I'd missed an explanation that was so head-bangingly simple that a six-year-old kid would've thought of it straight off.

  Papatius couldn't have killed Navius. Papatius was the only guy who couldn't have killed him because Papatius was the only one of the bunch with a cast-iron alibi.

  His problem was he couldn't use it.

  15.

  Clusinus's place was pretty dilapidated: there were tiles missing from the roof, the shutters looked like they hadn't had a lick of paint since Augustus had swapped his sun hat for a halo, and the yard was littered with the sort of junk that people collect thinking they might get round to fixing it one day if they have the time. It also stank seriously of goat and chicken-shit.

  I picked a careful path to the entrance, banged on the door and waited. Finally a kid of about six –female – opened up and peered round the jamb. There was another one behind her – male – a couple of years younger. They stood looking at me like I was a blue-rinsed Briton.

  'Is your father in?' I said.

  The six-year-old shook her head. Her brother shoved a finger up his nose.

  Yeah, well, that figured, and I was grateful: if Clusinus had been at home things might've been a little tricky.

  'How about your mother?'

  Nod.

  Not one of nature's great talkers, this little lady. 'What's your name, Gabby?' I said.

  'Trebbia.'

  The kid with the finger didn't introduce himself, he just stared and poked. I reached into my purse, took out a couple of coppers and held them out.

  'Okay, Trebbia,' I said. 'You think you and Porsenna here can use these?'

  'His name's Sextus,' she said; but she took the coins.

  'Whatever. I'd like to talk to your mother. Any chance of arranging that for me?'

  'Who is it, Trebbia?' The voice came from inside. Trebbia stuck her chin over her shoulder.

  'The Roman,' she said. 'The nosy one.'

  I grinned. Well, there ain't nothing like a reputation.
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  There was the sound of light footsteps and the door was opened fully. Yeah, that was Bright-Eyes sure enough. And she looked even better without the cloak.

  'My name's Corvinus,' I said. 'Marcus Valerius Corvinus.'

  'Yes, I know.' Her voice suited her: barely a whisper. She didn't step aside, though. 'Titus isn't in at the moment. I don't know when he'll be back.'

  'It was you I came to see.' That got me a quick, scared look. 'About Larth Papatius.'

  I'd tried to make that last bit sound as unthreatening as possible, but she still went pale.

  'Larth?'

  'No hassle, lady.' I spoke quietly as if I were calming a frightened horse. 'None in the world. I swear it. But if you want to save the guy's neck we really do have to talk.'

  She lifted the knuckle of her right forefinger to her mouth and nibbled on it. For an instant I thought she was going to slam the door in my face, but she didn't.

  'Trebbia,' she said. 'Take Sextus and play with him in the yard for half an hour.'

  The kids disappeared, with the smaller version being trailed along by the wrist looking back at me with huge eyes. Vesia stepped back from the threshold.

  'You'd better come in,' she said.

  The inside of the farmhouse was laid out like Vipena's, with an inner courtyard and fermenting vats; but these looked filthy and unused, and there was more junk piled around the walls. She took me through another area with a press that looked like it had been used for squeezing olives once upon a time and still had the pulp to prove it and then down a short passage to the kitchen.

  That at least was clean; it was better than clean. The stone-flagged floor and the big wooden table gleamed at me. She'd even polished the skillets. Meton would've approved, and where kitchens are concerned that bastard's as pernickety as they come. I'd guess that the farmyard area and the workrooms were Clusinus's province, but this was Vesia's.

  'Sit down, Valerius Corvinus,' she said. Her voice had been low before, but now it could've done service for a ghost's. 'Have you eaten?'

  'Yeah. Yeah, thanks.' I pulled up a chair. The wooden back felt slippy under my hand, and I could smell the beeswax.

  'Some wine, then.'

  'That'd be great.'

  She poured. It was foul stuff – maybe these vats were used after all, but Clusinus just didn't bother mucking them out between seasons – but I drank it. The lady had enough problems without a picky guest adding to them.

  'Now,' she said, sitting down facing me. I'd seen that look before on the faces of dentists' customers in Cattlemarket Square while they're waiting to have a tooth pulled.

  It would be easier if I told her rather than asked, and like with the dentist it was best done quickly. I was pretty sure of my facts, anyway.

  'Papatius was here the morning Navius was murdered,' I said.

  She closed her eyes and nodded. 'We're not lovers,' she said.

  'No, I know that.' I hesitated. 'But saying so wouldn't cut any ice in Vetuliscum, would it? Just the fact that the guy had visited – was in the habit of visiting – when your husband was out would be enough.'

  'It was the first time. That he'd been here, anyway. We usually met in the vineyard at the edge of his property and ours. There's a corner hidden from the road and from our track where he likes to go to be by himself.' She was looking straight at me now. 'We don't do anything; he wouldn't, and I wouldn't, either. We just talk. That's where I was going later when you saw me, to talk things over, if he was there.'

  'I believe you, lady.' I felt her relax; that had been important to her, and I was glad I could say it honestly. 'He came to tell you about Thupeltha and your husband.'

  Another nod. 'She'd just told him. I didn't know.' A small smile, with no amusement in it. 'That's the difference between Thupeltha and Titus: she tells her husband about her affairs, I only find out about his by accident. If at all.'

  'Normally Papatius couldn't care less who his wife was fooling around with.' I sipped the wine; it didn't get any better with further acquaintance. 'But with Clusinus it was different, right? It might hurt you.'

  'Yes.' She swallowed. 'He'd seen her go out and he knew where she was going. He gave her time to get clear, then he followed her. He came straight here.'

  'What about Navius?'

  'Larth didn't know he was there. He was out of sight by the time he left the wineshop.'

  That made sense: Papatius hadn't been 'following' either Thupeltha or Navius when the Gruesomes saw him, not in the usual sense of the word. He'd simply been heading in the same direction.

  'Go on,' I said.

  Vesia was twisting her fingers together; I noticed that the nails were broken and bitten to the quick, like a child's. 'Larth offered to stop it. Talk to his wife, talk to Titus. I only had to say the word. He was...very upset.'

  Yeah. I'd bet. Like he'd been 'very upset' with Thupeltha's Caeretan butcher pal or the loudmouth in the wineshop.

  'And did you? Say the word?'

  She shook her head. 'It would've only caused trouble for both of us. Certainly Titus wouldn't have paid any attention, and in that case I don't know what Larth would've done. It'll blow over eventually. She'll get tired of him, or he'll get tired of her and that'll be the end of it.'

  'Until the next time.' Shit. I felt really sorry for the kid – she wasn't much more – but there wasn't a lot I could do.

  'Yes.' Another smile which wasn't a smile. 'Until the next time.'

  'So when Papatius was caught out – by his wife and by Gaius Aternius – he lied. He couldn't deny he'd been following Navius because he'd been seen, but he couldn't tell the truth either without putting your reputation on the line. So he said he'd been going to Caere.'

  'And stuck to his story. If it came to it I would've told Aternius the truth. Believe that, please.'

  I sighed. 'Yeah. Yeah, well.' I got up. 'Okay. I'll go and see Gaius Aternius myself, explain things.' If the bastard would listen. 'Don't worry too much.'

  She got up too and walked me to the door. 'Larth's a good man,' she said. 'Even if he hadn't been with me I would've known he didn't kill Navius.'

  I didn't ask her about the Caere butcher; it didn't matter now, and she probably would've insisted it had been an accident whether she really thought so or not. Love's a funny thing, even the platonic variety.

  Funny, and not necessarily very nice. The Alexandrian novelists would've lapped the pair of them up. Me, I just felt sorry for them.

  It'd been a long, hard day: time for a bath and a leisurely jug before Meton served up the beans and lentils. I went back home.

  Perilla was waiting on the terrace with the Princess. They both looked upset, and the Princess was practically in tears.

  'Oh, Marcus, thank heavens you're back!' Perilla ran over and hugged me. 'Marilla's found a body.'

  16.

  The kid told me about it on the way.

  She'd been up in the hills with Corydon and the donkey had got thirsty. The Princess had seen an irrigation pond below, at what turned out to be the top end of Papatius's property: the sort of thing you get sometimes in the country, where the rainwater runoff or a small spring fills an artificial basin that feeds a system of sluiced irrigation channels for the fields below it. She was watering Corydon when she noticed further along the bank the ends of a hurdle sticking up from the surface; and stretching out from underneath it was a human arm...

  So after she'd done a bit of screaming she'd got on Corydon and ridden home hell for leather. I'd been just round the corner at Vesia's, but of course she hadn't known that, with the result that Perilla had ended up fielding the whole crisis.

  'It was horrible.' Marilla shuddered as she guided Corydon up the path through Papatius's vineyard. 'Like some huge bloated slug.'

  I glanced down at her; I'd taken the horse, for speed, and in any case I'd done enough walking for one day. I'd brought Alexis along, too, to help with the heavy stuff. He was riding along behind.

  'Yeah?' I said, trying not to g
rin. The Princess was recovering fast. That shudder had been what's sometimes described as 'delicious', and she looked a lot more eager for the trip to be over than Alexis did. I'd bet she couldn't wait to tell Aunt Marcia the story when she got back up to the Alban Hills, too. An interesting girl, Marilla. Even although we weren't kin in the biological sense she'd a lot of me in her.

  We got to the pond and dismounted. Everything was like the kid had described it. I looked around, but apart from the hurdle and what was underneath it there was nothing to see.

  'Okay, Alexis,' I said. 'Let's do it. Princess, go and find Corydon a thistle or something, yeah?'

  'Can't I watch?'

  Hell. Kids today. Well, she'd see a lot worse at the Games in Rome, and who was I to stand in the way of her education? 'All right,' I said. 'At a distance. But don't come running to me if you have nightmares. I need my sleep.'

  'I won't.' She took a hold of Corydon's bridle and stood wide-eyed as Alexis and me went over to the hurdle.

  It was quite close in, easy to reach, and the pond being artificial the sides went straight down, so there were no shallows to be negotiated. Alexis took one exposed side, I took the other, and we heaved. The hurdle – it was the usual kind, no more than a screen of wickerwork – didn't move. Peering through the murky, red-clayed water I could see why. Piled onto its centre were five or six rocks, each the size of my head.

  So. The guy had been thrown in, the hurdle put on top of him and then the stones added, pinning him to the floor of the pool; only he'd slipped partly clear in the process, enough for his arm to drift free.

  Okay. So we could do this two ways. Either we went into the pool and lifted the rocks off or forgot about them and went for the corpse itself. The second was easier, unfortunately. I gritted my teeth, took a firm grip of the wrist, slippery with fine red clay, and pulled...

  He came out from under like a dolphin breaking water. The rocks, dislodged, rolled across the width of the hurdle and it sank altogether.

  'Hey, Alexis,' I said. 'You want to give me a hand here?'

  He looked pretty green – Alexis is a sensitive soul – but he reached over and grabbed the scruff of the corpse's tunic. Together we heaved him ashore, face down, and let him drip. I noticed a nasty bruise – more of a cut – on the back of his head, between the crown and the neckline.