'You did what?' I said.
'Pulled it out. I thought perhaps...'
Holy gods alive! 'You stupid old bugger!'
'Marcus!' That was Mother.
'At which point,' Nepos went on in his toneless voice, 'Clusinus comes walzing down the hill, jumps to the obvious conclusion and makes a citizen's arrest.' His eyes closed as if in pain. 'Finish, end of story.'
I really didn't believe this. Or – scratch that – I wouldn't've believed it if the fall guy had been anyone else but Priscus. Even so it took a lot of swallowing.
'What the hell were you doing up there in the first place, Stepfather?' I said. 'I thought you were going tomb-bashing in Caere this morning.'
'He was.' Nepos's eyes were still closed.
'Then why –?'
'Don't ask, Corvinus.' Nepos again. 'Just...don't...bloody... ask!'
Priscus had the grace to look embarrassed. 'I, ah, seem to have taken the wrong turning,' he said.
I stared at him. 'Priscus, that is a sodding cart-track, right? It leads nowhere, and it does it in totally the wrong direction. Last but not least, you must've been back and forwards to Caere by the road a hundred times. So don't tell me –'
'I was thinking,' Priscus said with great dignity, 'of other things.'
The gods save us! 'It's a pity you weren't thinking of other things when you pulled the fucking knife out and waved it over the fucking corpse!'
Nepos made a choking sound, and Mother gave him her best glare. Then she turned back to me.
'Marcus, dear,' she said coolly. 'I appreciate you're upset over this, as we all are, but that is no excuse for bad language. Titus is simply an unfortunate victim of circumstances.'
I sighed: that wasn't exactly the phrase I'd've used. ‘Complete bloody prat’ came closer, but calling a spade a spade wouldn't help things any. The thing was done, and there was an end to it.
'Okay,' I said. 'So what happens now?'
Nepos had opened his eyes again; I expected he might have agreed with me on terminology, but arguing with Mother is like mud-wrestling eels. 'Titus has been released into my custody, naturally,' he said, 'but a report has gone to Quintus Cominius, the Caeretan mayor. No doubt Navius's mother Sicinia Rufina will be pressing charges shortly.'
'The guy wasn't married?'
'He was only in his early twenties. He came into the property when his father died last year.'
I sat back. This was a real bummer. Sure, being a Roman knight there was no way that Priscus would be hauled off to the local slammer, but even so it looked pretty bleak for the poor sap. If he were convicted – and being caught red-handed made that likely – a hefty fine was the best he could expect, with exile a fair possibility. Something had to be done, and fast.
'This Navius,' I said. 'Did he have any enemies?'
'No.' Nepos hesitated. 'None that I'm aware of.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Just what it says. He was a nice enough lad, a bit of a spoiled pup the way they all are at that age. He'd a taste for wine and an eye for the girls, but there was no real harm in him.' Yeah. That sounded familiar. I was glad Perilla wasn't here to see my blushes. 'And he'd the makings of a farmer, even if he did raise a few temperatures in the neighbourhood.'
'Yeah?' I pricked up my ears. 'What kind of temperatures?'
Nepos chuckled. 'Farmers – and I'd include myself, for my sins – have pretty fixed views on things. We don't like them questioned, certainly not by youngsters. I'm talking farming methods, you understand. Young Attus Navius had some ideas that weren't too popular locally, and being the lad he was he didn't mind spouting them in public. Oh, he got up quite a few noses. But not far enough to get himself killed, nowhere near it.'
'Uh-huh.' Yeah, well, that sounded familiar too. Farmers are like everyone else: they don't like smartass kids still wet behind the ears telling them where they've been going wrong for the past fifty years, and the kids – being kids – will naturally slug on regardless. Still, I shelved that little nugget for future reference. 'So how about this Clusinus?'
'Ah.' Nepos had pulled up a chair himself by now. He leaned back frowning. 'I thought you might be interested in him.'
'You bet I'm interested. The corpse was on his land and he turned up from nowhere just at the perfect time. And if Meataxe here didn't kill the guy he makes as good a starting point as any.'
'Mmmaaa!' Priscus waved a protesting claw. 'My boy, I really wish you wouldn't be so facetious.'
'I think we should let Marcus handle this, dear.' That was Mother, of course. She was looking brighter, and I had the distinct impression she was beginning to enjoy herself. 'Tiresome or not, he does know what he's doing in situations like these. It comes from having a warped brain.'
Ouch.
Nepos had steepled his fingers. He was still frowning. 'Clusinus is a bit of a queer fish,' he said. 'He's no farmer, to begin with, or not a proper one as people round here would understand the term. Oh, his land isn't all that good, of course – a lot of it's no better than broken country and scrub – but he could do a lot more with it than he does. A hell of a lot more, in fact. Which doesn't exactly endear him locally. To make matters worse he keeps goats, and you know what arable farmers and vine-growers think of them.' Yeah, I did, even a city boy like me: goats'll eat anything they can get their teeth into. They're no respecters of boundary lines, either. If Clusinus wasn't overcareful about little details like hurdles – and I had the impression, somehow, that he wouldn't be – then his caprine pals could make him very unpopular indeed. 'Not to put too fine a point on it, the fellow's a complete wastrel. He spends more time hunting than looking after his farm. Which was what he had been doing, in fact, when he came upon Titus and the body.'
'You happen to know if he'd caught anything?'
Nepos gave me a sharp look: like I say, the guy was no fool. 'Now that is a thought,' he said slowly. 'No, I don't. But he was certainly empty-handed when he brought Titus in.'
I turned to the Mad Axeman himself. 'Priscus?'
'Mmmaaa?'
'Was Clusinus carrying anything in the way of game, did you notice?' Not a flicker. The guy might be able to tell a labial fricative from a plosive but I'd met with smarter frying pans. I tried again. 'A hare or two, maybe? Dragging a boar behind him with a spear in its gullet, perhaps?'
'Come on, Titus, dear,' Mother prompted. 'You can remember.'
Priscus's brow furrowed, then cleared. ‘Yes, Marcus, he was indeed. A brace of bustard; tetrax, if I recall correctly, not the heavier tarda variety, although I do believe one can find otis tarda occasionally in–'
'Yeah. Yeah, fine.' Bugger; there went that idea. Well, at least he'd noticed; I wouldn't even have laid bets on the boar. 'One more thing, Nepos. What about the murder weapon?'
'I have it here.' Nepos got up and went over to a storage chest in the corner of the room. He came back with a bone-hilted knife with a blade six or seven inches long. 'Clusinus wanted to keep it, but I told the fellow I'd give it to Cominius myself.'
It wasn't anything special, the sort of thing you could pick up anywhere for a few copper coins. Nothing any self-respecting Roman knight would look at twice. I hoped Cominius would spot that, too.
'You mind if I hang on to it for a while?' I said.
'Not as long as you're careful with it.'
'Priscus?'
'Carry on, my boy.'
'Right.' I stood up and tucked it into the belt of my tunic. 'If you'll excuse me I'll go and have a look at the scene of the crime.'
'You're not eating with us, Marcus?' Mother said. 'I'm sure Nepos would send the coach for Perilla and your daughter. And Phormio's promised us some marrowbone and emmer broth. So strengthening.'
But I was already on my way out.
3.
I rode down Nepos's carriage drive and turned left on to the main drag. This time I paid more attention to the scenery, especially to the bit between Mamilius's farmhouse and the wineshop. For all Nepos had talked about Navius'
s fancy new ideas I couldn't see much difference between his property and the rest except that it was mostly planted out with vines. Then again, maybe I was missing something.
Papatius's wineshop looked tempting but I earmarked it for later. That was a pleasure to be savoured: I'd already checked out the wine and it was as good as Flatworm's best, easy. Mrs Papatius wasn't bad either. The lady wasn't in evidence but there was an old guy gnarled as an olive stump sitting on one of the benches under the trellis. I gave him a wave and he lifted his cup in salute. Well, at least the natives were friendly, and that was a good sign: friendly natives tend to have loose mouths. If my luck held he'd still be there when I got back.
There was one other house between Papatius's and Clusinus's farm, on the other side of the road. Its terrace had been empty when I'd passed before, but now there were a pair of middle-aged spinster types in residence. I gave them another cheery wave and got a brace of glares in return that all but froze my balls to the saddle. Yeah, well: some of the natives were friendly. These two beauties looked like their faces would crack if they so much as simpered. They were wearing head-scarfs so I couldn't see their hair, but I wouldn't lay any bets that it wasn't the kind that had fangs and hissed.
I turned left up Clusinus's track. Looking around, I could see what Nepos had meant: the guy was no farmer, that was sure. The fields on either side were an anonymous sea of burned stubble from the wheat harvest, but there were vines on the slopes beyond to the right before the broken country began that even to my city boy's eye looked scraggy, like they'd been left to do whatever they liked. About three hundred yards up, the track split. A side branch led to what had to be the farmhouse; the other carried straight on towards the high ground to the north. I'd just turned the horse up this second branch when a girl wrapped in a cloak and carrying a basket came down the first.
We both looked round together. I had a glimpse of dark hair framing a heart-shaped face and black, anxious eyes; then she was hurrying back the way I'd come, towards the main road. I watched her go until she was out of sight. Even with the cloak wrapped round her she was a stunner.
Uh-huh. An eye for the girls, Nepos had said. Maybe I'd just seen why young Navius was so far off his own patch. I clicked my tongue and sent the horse on up the track and past a grove of holm oaks. Where the ground started to rise there was a ragged orchard of apple and pear trees. Goats were wandering under the shade of the unpruned branches, grazing on the stubble of what had obviously been another wheat crop. The trees themselves had hurdles round them, but from the condition of the fruit Clusinus would've done better to let the evil-smelling horned bastards have their wicked way and then sold them on as kebabs.
Nepos's gully was screened by a cleft of hill-slope from the track proper which carried on up to the higher ground, and barring a few scuff marks and a spot or two of dried blood there wasn't much to see. It crossed my mind that I hadn't asked Nepos what they'd done with the body. I'd've liked to have seen that for myself –a stab through the heart's a stab through the heart, sure, but there might've been other things to notice – but presumably it'd either been taken home or directly to the undertaker's in Caere. I kicked around for a while in the hopes of picking up a clue, but the place was clean. No scraps of cloth ripped from the murderer's tunic, no mysterious messages scrawled in the dust by the dying man's finger. No nothing, in fact, which was about all I could've reasonably expected. What you saw was what you got.
Well, there wasn't any point in sticking around here, and at least I'd got the girl. If I hurried, I might pick her up again on the way back. And if not there was the wineshop.
The old man was still there. 'Old' didn't do him justice; he would've given Tithonus a run for his wrinkles, maybe even Saturn as well. The guy could shift it, too. As I tied the horse up where the bastard couldn't reach the grapes hanging from the trellis and made my way over he poured the last of his jug into his cup and swallowed it down like it was barley water.
'Hey, Grampa,' I said. 'You manage another one of those?'
I'd been kidding, or half-kidding, but he grinned at me, turned round and shouted, 'Thupeltha!'
Mrs Papatius came out. So that was her name. She was certainly something, big as a man, easy, a Praxiteles Juno squared with the biceps of an Amazon. Women like that, you don't leer, you marvel.
I'd sat down next to the old bugger on the door side of the bench. Turning, and finding myself face to face, as it were, with a pair of breasts that were practically army ordnance grade, I swallowed hard.
'You want to bring us another jug, sister?' I said.
She picked up the empty and disappeared with it inside. A minute or so later, she reappeared with a full one, planked it down on the table and went back in again. All without so much as a smile. I got the distinct impression that our Thupeltha was a lady of few words, which wasn't surprising because the way she moved more than made up for them. Who needs ordinary conversational skills when you're put together like an Archimedean City-taker?
Ah, well, fantasy over and back to the job in hand. I turned to Tithonus and poured for both of us.
'Marcus Corvinus,' I said.
'Quintus Mamilius.' The guy was still grinning. I'd expected him to be toothless but he had practically the whole set. They were in good shape, too. 'Quite a looker, Thupeltha, isn't she?'
'Yeah.' I let the first swallow of Caeretan slip past my tonsils. Beautiful! 'She makes nice wine, too.'
'That's Papatius. Best vintner in the district. With his brains and her...' Mamilius stopped. 'Aye. Well, like you say it's good wine.'
'You're ex-army.' It wasn't a question: you get to spot these guys, and Mamilius had legion written all over him. Not just because of the amount of booze he could shift, either, although that helped. It's a funny thing, but I've never met an army man who couldn't drink two jugs to my one.
He nodded. 'Senior centurion with the Grabbers. I fought with the emperor and his brother against the Raeti.'
I whistled, impressed. 'Is that so, now?' Old was right! I wasn't sure of the exact date, but the Wart's campaign against the Raeti must've been a good forty-five years back. And if this guy had been a senior centurion at the time then he'd be pushing ninety. 'You farm the place up the road?'
'Aye. Have done since my discharge.'
'You farm it alone?’ I didn't want to be personal, but hell! I was genuinely interested.
Mamilius topped up the cups. I wondered if I could keep up the pace. 'I've a son and a couple of lads. They do most of the heavy work these days.'
'"Lads"?'
'Slaves. I bought them about thirty, thirty-five years back.'
'That so?' I sipped my wine. Well, it was all relative, I supposed. 'You know Attus Navius?'
Mamilius sank a straight quarter pint before answering. It may've been my imagination, but I felt he'd taken a sort of mental step backwards.
'Aye,' he said shortly.
'Care to tell me about him?'
He reached for the wine jug and topped up both our cups again; his needed it, mine didn't. I noticed his hand was rock-steady. Built like a rock, too.
'You're the knight's stepson, right?' he said. 'Helvius Priscus's. The man Clusinus caught with the body.'
There wasn't any point in denying it. Vetuliscum was a small place, and even if we had only been here for a couple of days I'd've bet the locals knew already what we put on our porridge in the morning.
'Yeah,' I said. 'That's right.'
He grunted. 'And naturally you're out to prove he didn't do it. True?'
'You ever meet Priscus, Mamilius?'
The guy obviously hadn't expected a question. He paused with the cup half way to his mouth. 'No. Can't say I have.'
'Take my word for it, then. The cack-handed old bugger couldn't stab anyone if he tried between now and Winter Festival.'
Mamilius's eyes opened wide. Then, slowly, he began to laugh. It was like hearing a superannuated wolf choke on a duck.
'Aye,' he said finally
. 'Well, maybe that's as good a defence as any. You're right, killing a man takes practice. Even so you'll have an uphill struggle proving it.'
'You think so?'
'I know so.' He took a swallow of wine then set the cup down. 'Put it like this. Whoever killed Navius wasn't just passing through. Your stepfather doesn't belong here. If he did it, then fine, but if he didn't then it was one of the locals. If you'd lived here all your life which solution would you prefer? Even if it was the wrong one?'
I frowned. Shit, that was something I hadn't thought of, but the guy was right, straight down the line. Forget objectivity and the pure desire for justice; as far as the Vetuliscans were concerned if they could stick Priscus with the rap, guilty or not, then everyone'd be happy. Everyone but Priscus, sure, but then he didn't matter because like Mamilius said he was an outsider, and a Roman aristo at that. Corvinus with his questions was going to be as popular locally as a flea in a barbershop.
Mamilius was watching me. 'Me,' he said, 'I was born in Tusculum.'
'Is that so?' I sat back.
'That's so. Like I said, I got the farm as my discharge settlement forty-three years back when most of these bastards weren't even a gleam in their fathers' eyes, and I'm still a stranger. You believe that?'
Yeah, I'd believe it. Farming communities are no different from the Roman aristocracy: you're either family or you ain't, and if you ain't then all your money and all your goodwill and community spirit won't buy you in, ever. There was an edge of bitterness about Mamilius that I could understand.
'So.' He topped the wine cups up again. The level in the jug had slipped by half in ten minutes, and he'd had most of it. Jupiter, if I could sink the stuff like that when I hit ninety then I'd call myself a drinker. 'What do you want to know about Navius?'
'Who killed the guy.'
He chuckled. 'Aye. No doubt. Well, that's one thing I can't tell you. Try me with something easier.'
'Okay.' I thought of the woman with the basket. 'Clusinus. He have a daughter?'
An expression I couldn't quite place rearranged the wrinkles on Mamilius's face, so fast it was gone almost before I realised it was there. 'Aye,' he said. 'He's got two children. A girl and a boy. The girl's just turned six.'
Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5) Page 2
