Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  It fitted. Sure it did. And if the theory was right then it was no wonder the bastard was scared.

  On the other hand, if Vipena's a good boy and toes the party line he's home and clear. With Papatius in jug and waiting for his appointment with the praetor's strangler, officially the case is closed. Once justice has been done the scam can continue on its merry way and the silver pieces will flow in uninterrupted. All he has to do for that to happen is do nothing.

  The perfect carrot-and-stick situation, in other words.

  On the other other hand, I could be completely wrong about Vipena being the cream bun of the partnership. I already knew he was no blue-eyed innocent, and if I didn't miss my guess by nature he was as slippery as an eel in a grease bucket. I only had his word for the fact that he'd blown the whistle on the scam himself. And the marks on the jars could've been changed after Navius's death just as easily as before to send me down just this alleyway. He could still be both a crook and a murderer...

  Only of course in that case there were the other murders to account for, and them the theory didn't cover, nohow, no way. Navius, sure, no problem; but Clusinus? And Hilarion, for Jupiter's sake? I still hadn't a clue where Hilarion fitted in.

  Ah, the hell. Leave it. One thing was sure: I'd better watch my back in future. Whoever Baro really worked for, he wasn't a card-carrying member of the Marcus Corvinus fan club. I'd been warned off in no uncertain terms, and warnings from big lugs like that you take seriously or live to regret it. If you're lucky.

  I thought, when I knocked on Vesia's door, that I'd have to go through the kids thing again, but it was the lady herself who opened up. She looked a mess, as much as a stunner like Vesia could manage that: hair like a bird's nest and dark puffy bags under eyes with more red in them than white. Yeah, well; it couldn't've been easy losing a husband and a lover both inside of two days, even if the husband was a bastard and the lover was only the platonic variety.

  'What is it this time?' she said. There was a hardness to her voice that hadn't been there the last time I'd spoken to her, and the door didn't widen an inch.

  'Nothing much, lady.' I kept my own voice mild. 'I've been to see Larth Papatius. I thought you might be interested.'

  She hesitated, then stepped aside.

  'You'd best come in, then.'

  Grudging, but there again I couldn't exactly be her favourite person. And the day after a funeral is no time for a social visit.

  'No Trebbia and Sextus?' I said as she shut the door behind us.

  'They're with my mother. In Caere.' She hadn't moved.

  'I'm sorry about your husband.' Trite, sure, and both of us knew I didn't mean it, but I had the idea formal nothings like that might matter to Vesia.

  'Thank you.' That was all. She hesitated again, and then seemed to reach a decision. 'You'd better come through.'

  I smelled the perfume as soon as we hit the corridor: like I said, it was the kind of cheap, obvious stuff that smacks you between the eyes at the first sniff. Sure enough, Thupeltha was sitting at the kitchen table. She turned round as I came in and her eyes widened, but she didn't speak. There were dirty plates on the table. Without a word, Vesia gathered them up, took them over to the sink and began scrubbing at them with a washcloth. She hadn't so much as looked at Thupeltha.

  My brain was racing as I pulled out a stool and sat on it. Shit, what was going on here?

  'Uh...you two know each other?' I said to Thupeltha. 'I mean –'

  'You mean why should Clusinus's wife and mistress be sharing a meal only a day after the man's been burned?' Thupeltha shrugged. 'I invited myself, Corvinus. I've no quarrel with Vesia, I never have. I just wanted her to know that.'

  I stared at her. Of all the brass-necked egotists I'd ever met this one took the cake.

  'Besides, if what she's been telling me of her...relationship with Larth is true' – the pause before the word and the slant she put on it set my teeth on edge – 'then we're more or less even, aren't we?'

  I glanced at Vesia. She still hadn't turned round.

  'Not quite,' I said. 'I sort of think there's a difference somewhere along the line.'

  Thupeltha laughed, and her big breasts shook. Her fingers were playing with a bracelet on her left wrist. It was gold, with a design in fine granulation, and it looked old. I'd seen things like that in Phlebas's antique shop in the Saepta, with price labels that made my eyes bulge. 'What difference?' she said. 'You're a romantic, Corvinus. I told you, there was never anything between Titus and me but sex and we both knew that wouldn't last, so it didn't matter. If Larth had been screwing around without telling me I might be annoyed and I'd surely be surprised, but I wouldn't've been upset about a harmless friendship. Larth obviously thought otherwise, but that was his business. If he and Vesia got any satisfaction out of their arrangement then we've neither of us cause for complaint. Isn't that right, Vesia?'

  The girl turned round. She had a plate in her hand, and for a moment I thought she'd throw it, but she carefully reached for a dishtowel, dried it and set it down to one side.

  'If you say so,' she said. Quietly. Too quietly, and there was nothing mousey about the tone. I began to think that maybe I'd misjudged sweet little Vesia, and that more to the point maybe Thupeltha had, as well. 'How is Larth, Valerius Corvinus?'

  'He's okay.' Well, one white lie wouldn't hurt. 'He sent his regards. And with –' I stopped and changed what I was going to say: tact may not be my strong point but I'm not that thick '–with your husband dying when he did he may be off the hook.'

  'I thought the body could've been in the pond for some time,' Thupeltha said.

  Something cold touched my spine. I turned to face her. 'Is that right, now?' I said. 'And who told you that?'

  'Mamilius.' Thupeltha's voice was bland. 'Stop it, Corvinus. If you want to find your murderer then don't look at me. Remember, I'm on your side.'

  Yeah. That's what I'd thought. Still, I was beginning to wonder.

  Vesia had finished with the plates. She came over, pulled up a stool and sat down. I noticed she'd avoided sitting next to Thupeltha, although there was plenty of room on the bench.

  'You didn't come here just to pass on a message from Larth, did you?' she said.

  'No.' Mild-mannered the lady might be, but she was no fool. And I was glad we'd moved on to less sensitive ground. Or at least I hoped it was less sensitive: you could still cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. 'I'd hoped you might tell me a bit about your husband. Who his friends were.'

  'What friends? No one liked Titus.' Well, that was candid enough, and she'd handed it to me dead-pan. 'But no one hated him, either, as far as I know. Not enough to kill him, if that's what you mean.' Vesia's big brown eyes were on mine. It was unsettling.

  'Why should no one like him?' I said.

  'He wasn't a real farmer. And he'd poach on the other proprietors' land. Not just game; chickens, the odd lamb, even a sheep once in a while.' Vesia's voice was expressionless. 'We get wolves down from the mountains, sometimes, in the early months of the year, and he was careful not to be too greedy. Still, everyone knew. They just didn't make trouble.'

  'Uh-huh.' I'd imagine one reason would be Vesia herself. Her and the kids. Country people are harder than townies as a rule, but they have their own weaknesses. If you like to call them that. 'And that's what you lived on? The farm and the...pickings?'

  Vesia hesitated, then lowered her eyes. 'No,' she said finally. 'Not exactly.'

  My stomach went cold. Not exactly.

  'What, then?' I said. Silence. 'Come on, lady! I'm no praetor's rep, and I'm pretty broad-minded. If I'm to find out who killed your husband I need a lead. I can't work on air.'

  'He had...I suppose you'd call it other business.'

  'Like what, for example?' I was handling this all wrong, and I knew it: I never could get the measure of women except for dowagers and good-time girls. Perilla would've done better, but Perilla wasn't here. And Thupeltha was just looking on like it was a s
ideshow.

  'I don't know! I swear I don't. He never told me.'

  I sighed: there was hysteria in there somewhere, I could tell, and not all that far away; the lady was wound up more than she seemed. Important or not, it was time to back off. 'Look, Vesia,' I said as calmly as I could manage, 'whoever killed your husband didn't do it because of a missing sheep. You must know something. A word, a hint, any fu...anything at all, right?'

  She was trying, that was sure. Her eyes now were screwed shut and her hands clenched and unclenched on the table top.

  Finally they stopped, and her eyes opened.

  'Aulus,' she said.

  'What?'

  'About a month ago Titus mentioned a man called Aulus.'

  'Aulus what?'

  'I don't know. He just said Aulus.'

  Hell! I tried to hide my disappointment. It might not be the most common first name going, but there had to be a couple of hundred Auluses within striking distance of Vetuliscum, starting with Priscus's pal Nepos. I needed more than that. Still, there was no point pressing her.

  'Okay,' I said. 'So what business did they have together?'

  'I don't know that either. Not exactly. Titus was selling him something, or hoping to. He seemed very pleased about it.'

  'Selling him what?'

  Vesia shook her head sharply. 'Titus wouldn't say. But it was something valuable. Very valuable. He was even talking about buying a little place in Rome when the deal went through.'

  I sat back. Jupiter, now that was a facer. Valuable had to be right: for most hayseeds a move to Rome and onto the corn dole list is the impossible dream. In hayseed terms even the worst slum in Transtiber or the Subura costs an arm and a leg to rent, and as far as buying goes forget it unless you have serious cash under your mattress: landlords make more out of sitting tenants, and if the place collapses or burns down the ground's still there, there are plenty of cowboy builders around and you can always find punters who need a roof over their heads. Even if it does leak or brain you with a tile. So what did a no-hoper like Clusinus have to sell that was worth that amount of gravy?

  'Did the deal go through?' I said.

  'I don't know. Titus never mentioned it again.'

  I almost howled. 'You mean that's all? All he ever said?'

  She nodded. 'I'm sorry. I'd help you more if I could.'

  Well, I'd got something, at least, although where it'd got me I hadn't the faintest idea. I turned to Thupeltha.

  'How about you, sister?' I said. 'You have anything to throw into the pot?'

  She laughed. 'Titus and I had better things to do with our time together than talk about business. No, I can't help you at all.'

  'Yeah, I just thought you might say that, lady.' I caught the barest flash of...annoyance? amusement? assessment? I wasn't quite sure, but it was something. I stood up. 'Thanks, Vesia. I'll keep in touch.'

  Aulus. Now who the hell was Aulus?

  25.

  The sun was past its highest when I left Vesia's and my stomach was rumbling. Time for home and the feed bag.

  That had been a real eye-opener, where Thupeltha was concerned especially. There was cold blood there, a calculating egotism with a touch of malice that was right at odds with her claims to directness. That first time I'd talked to her I'd believed she'd been telling the truth, as she saw it at least, but now I wouldn't lay any bets. The lady knew more than she was saying, that was obvious; but I had the distinct impression that she knew I knew she knew she was hiding something and it made her enjoy watching me flounder all the more. If you get what I mean. And I'd wager a dozen of Caecuban to a mouldy rissole that she got a charge out of watching people flounder, especially if she had the lifebelt. She mightn't be averse to kicking the feet out from under them in the first place, either.

  Not a very nice person, Thupeltha.

  Vesia was another problem. Call me jaundiced if you like, but I was beginning to feel that maybe she was just a little too squeaky-clean-perfect to be true. Oh, she wasn't putting up as big a false front as Thupeltha, but there was a touch of steel there under all that powder-blue softness that I hadn't expected. Maybe I should've done: the woman couldn't've had it easy bringing up two kids and trying to stay respectable married to Titus Clusinus, and the quiet mousey types are often tougher than the brash in-your-face Amazons. Still, I had the impression that it was a side of her nature that Vesia didn't want to show. And that was interesting.

  Bring the two together, and put both women in the same kitchen, and bad vibes or not you got something that was even more interesting still. I thought about that aspect, and the implications, all the way home.

  Bathyllus was waiting with the wine jug, which was great because it had turned out to be a scorcher of a day and by the time I reached the villa my tongue was trailing the road. The first cup didn't even touch the sides; the second I took more slowly.

  'Where's the mistress, little guy?' I said as I held the cup out for a refill.

  'The bath suite, sir. She and Marilla went out riding this morning.'

  'Is that so?' I felt a small stab of guilt. Perilla had been right: this was supposed to be a holiday, and I'd hardly seen anything of her. Let alone the Princess, and she'd be going back to Aunt Marcia's when we headed home to Athens. 'Look me out a fresh tunic, will you, Bathyllus?' I said. 'And ask Meton to hold the chickpea rissoles for an hour.'

  That's one thing about lunch: it's usually cold leftovers anyway, and not even the world's most single-minded chef could object to a postponement. Also, I noticed Bathyllus's nostrils had twitched as he poured the wine, and although the little guy was far too polite to pass a remark on the strength of the master's body odour a bath before eating would be a kindness to the world in general. After traipsing over half Vetuliscum on a roaster of a morning I would've given a goat a headache.

  I swallowed down the rest of the wine and made for the bath.

  One thing you could say for Flatworm: where life's little luxuries were concerned he didn't stint himself. Out in the sticks or not, the villa's baths were better than mine. You could've put a couple of dozen people into the hot room if they didn't mind squeezing up, and knowing Flatworm his regular guests wouldn't. The mosaics and wall paintings were something, too; in fact, the fresco by the cold plunge was so much something that Perilla'd told Bathyllus to cover it over with a sheet. Well, the artist hadn't got the perspective right anyway. Either that or his knowledge of anatomy was seriously flawed.

  I stripped off in the changing cubicle, wound the towel round my middle for modesty – Bathyllus hadn't said as much, but I assumed Marilla would be bathing as well – and headed for the hot room. Sure enough they were both there, the colour of cooked Baian crayfish. I gave Perilla the requisite nice-to-see-you-again smacker and ruffled the Princess's hair: she doesn't like it done up, and anyway no hairstyle ever invented can stand up to an hour in a bath-house.

  'Well, Marcus, did you have a successful morning?' Perilla said.

  'Yeah.' I sat down beside her. 'How about you? Bathyllus tells me you went out riding.'

  'We saw a fox,' Marilla said. 'A vixen, really. She had cubs.'

  'Yeah?' The kid's mad on animals, as I think I said. 'Whereabouts?'

  'Oh, just around. Up in the hills. I don't know the area well enough to be more precise.'

  'I hope you didn't tell any of the locals, then. Vixens and chickens don't mix except on the most basic level.'

  'We're going into Pyrgi tomorrow. Bathyllus says he knows someone there with a tame bear. Are you coming?'

  I hesitated. 'Maybe,' I said. 'We'll see. I'm kind of tied up at the moment.'

  'Oh.' She looked down. 'Yes. Well.' There was a pause. Then she got up. 'I'll see you later, Corvinus. I have to go and brush Corydon. He walked through a thistle patch and he's still wearing half the result.'

  When she'd gone Perilla and I sat for a while in awkward silence.

  'I've got to solve this thing quickly, lady,' I said finally, not looking at her. 'The
praetor's rep'll be here in nine days' time, and after that Papatius is crows'-meat.'

  She sighed and put her head on my shoulder. 'Yes,' she said. 'I know. Don't let it worry you. Marilla understands.'

  I kissed her. She tasted salty. 'The little guy's setting up his network already, then?' I said.

  'It was Alexis, really. One of the farmers down the Caere road happened to mention the bear to him when he went to ask about Corydon.'

  'Uh-huh.'

  She was quiet for a long time. Then she said:

  'Marcus, can't we move back to Rome? Sejanus is dead, you don't have to have anything to do with any senators if you don't want to, and you know you miss it. The Alban Hills aren't far away. Marilla could stay with Aunt Marcia and we'd still see her regularly. Much more regularly than we do now living in Athens.'

  'I'll think about it.'

  But not now. I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting the heat leach away the tiredness. Jupiter, that was good! If we Romans had given nothing else to the world that didn't have its down side at least we'd got bathing to a fine art.

  'So.' Perilla had lifted her head, and the usual cool, businesslike tone was back in her voice. 'How are things going, in fact?'

  I told her about the visits to Mamilius's and Vipena's. That last was the tricky one: Perilla's never liked the idea that one day I might stick my neck out a bit too far and be carted home on a board. Sure enough, I got the usual lecture about keeping out of trouble. This time I took it like a lamb, which was fair because I agreed with every word: the obvious guys, or the guys who bluster, you can take in your stride, but hard professionals like Tolumnius and Baro are another matter. These bastards don't threaten, they promise.

  Then we got round to Vesia and Thupeltha. When I mentioned I'd found them together Perilla's eyebrows rose.

  'Hardly orthodox behaviour, is it?' she said. 'On either side. If you'd just been murdered, dear, I wouldn't expect your mistress to drop round for a meal and a chat the day after your funeral, however pushy she was. And I certainly wouldn't open the door for her if she did.'