Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  He grunted: I got the impression he hadn't expected me to take him up on the offer, or maybe with a lot more bad grace. 'Good. You break, I'll shovel.'

  I jumped down into the ditch and started hacking away. The guy had a point about the rains: this time of year, late summer early autumn, the weather turned pretty unchancy, with sudden thunderstorms sweeping down from the hills and dumping their load on the lower slopes. After the long drought the earth was powder-dry and the result could be a flash-flood that swept away the topsoil and everything growing in it. If the ditches at the edges of the fields weren't cleared out good and deep a farmer could be in real trouble.

  He watched me for a minute, then grunted again and bent down to clear the earth I'd dislodged.

  'Navius was a smart-mouthed pup,' he said, 'but he'd the makings of a good farmer. He's done a lot for the property since he took it over. Cleared new land, dug drain-shafts above the hill terraces. Done it himself, too, with his own hands. One thing about Attus Navius, he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Not like his poser of a father or your two Roman friends.'

  'Uh-huh.' I shifted my grip on the mattock. Hell, this was no joke. I could feel the blisters rising already, and the tunic was sticking to my back. 'Nepos said the guy had some fancy ideas where farming was concerned.'

  Arruns threw another shovelful of earth onto the field. 'He put a few noses out of joint.'

  'Such as?'

  'The ones you'd expect. Larth Papatius's and Gnaeus Vipena's.'

  'Yeah?' I was careful not to stop digging. 'Why theirs in particular?'

  'They're the big commercial vine-growers. The rest of us don't sell our wine, or not enough of it to make any odds. We grow mainly grain and pulses.'

  I dislodged a stone and rolled it towards him with the blade of the mattock. 'These fancy ideas, now,' I said. 'What exactly are we talking about?'

  'Vennunculans for Apians. And compluviate trussing.'

  'You care to run that past me again, pal?' I leaned on the mattock and grinned at him. 'In Latin this time?'

  Arruns grinned back as he hefted my stone up and over the edge: he had about a quarter of Mamilius's teeth, and they weren't in too good shape, either. 'If you want to fit in at Vetuliscum, Corvinus,' he said, 'you'll have to broaden your vocabulary. Vennunculan and Apian are vine varieties. Most of the vines you'll see here are Apians. You get Vennunculans a lot on the big estates in Campania, round about Pompeii. And compluviate trussing means the vines are grown up a four-sided frame instead of along a yoked line.'

  'So?'

  'It's the old argument, quality against quantity.' Arruns leaned on his spade; Jupiter, the guy wasn't even sweating! 'You can't have both. Vine-growers around here have always gone for the first, like the big boys further south in the Falernian and Caecuban areas. Apians aren't high- croppers but the grapes're top quality, and grown in a yoked line they ripen evenly and all together. Vennunculans give you twice the yield, maybe three times with compluviate trussing. With Apians and yoke-training you can press maybe twenty, twenty-five jars the acre, say a hundred and twenty gallons of prime juice. Vennunculans'll give you twice that, maybe three hundred in a good year, but the grapes're rubbish and the wine's piss. Good enough for the mass market but no more. You understand now?'

  I shook my head. 'Uh-uh. Oh, sure, I can see that Navius might've been breaking with tradition in going for a wider market but that was his business. He could plant whatever vines he wanted on his own property and grow them how he liked.'

  Arruns laughed. 'You're no vine-grower, that's certain. Vines take five years to mature. Five years from now Navius would've been selling his wine as Caeretan, and it would've been junk. Worse, he'd've had three times as much as any other vine-grower in the region. He'd've made a killing for the first four, maybe five years when he sold to the wholesalers and the jars were kept in bulk storage, but how long do you think the price of Caeretan would've held once it started to reach the customers and the market woke up? Then there's the knock-on effect. Vine-growing's a chancy business to start with. Who's going to take the risk of producing a low- yield quality wine if they might end up having to sell it at mass-market prices? So they plant Vennunculans themselves or give up and grow beans. The local quality wine industry'd be dead inside ten years. And for the commercial growers like Vipena and Papatius that's no joke.'

  I saw what the guy was getting at now, and consciously or not he'd opened up a completely new can of worms. The wine business gave Papatius another reason for killing Navius that had nothing to do with Thupeltha. And it started up another hare: the Gruesomes' brother Vipena. Complicated was right.

  I hacked out another few feet of ditch. I was getting blisters now for certain, but I knew better than to complain. The old bugger was turning almost friendly, and he was keeping up his end of the bargain. Maybe I could risk something closer to the bone.

  'Nepos said you had a family feud going with Navius,' I said carefully.

  Uh-oh; silence. Arruns started shovelling again. The scowl was back.

  'Is that right, now?' he said finally.

  I put my head down and didn't answer.

  Arruns grunted. 'You're talking about the terraces on the slopes north east of here,' he said.

  'Yeah?'

  'Fifty years ago the boy's grandfather claimed he'd bought them from my father. The bastard was lying.'

  Fifty years! Shit! They certainly had long memories in the country. I risked a glance at him.

  'Your father denied the purchase?'

  That got me a glare. 'My father was dead, Corvinus. The month after he died old Velthur Navius – that was the grandfather – produced a forged bill of sale.'

  'It'd have to be witnessed, surely.'

  'It was witnessed.' Arruns stabbed at the pile of earth. 'The witness was lying too. My father never sold anything. That's our land still, and if you want to call wanting it back a feud then you go ahead. It's none of your business, anyway. Or that plummy bastard Nepos's.'

  Ouch. I'd obviously touched a nerve and it was time to back off. 'One more question. Quintus Mamilius.'

  'Yes?' Arruns straightened. 'What about him?'

  'He had a granddaughter, died a while back. You know what of?'

  'She died in childbirth. The baby as well.'

  Yeah. That's what I thought the answer would be. Still, it was good to have it confirmed. 'Who was the father? Attus Navius?'

  That got me a long look, and not a friendly one either. 'Now that really isn't your business,' Arruns said quietly.

  'Uh, right.' I put down the mattock and got out of the ditch. 'Thanks for your help.'

  He grunted and went back to his shovelling. As I walked away he called over:

  'Corvinus!'

  I turned. 'Yeah?'

  'Put some oil on these blisters.'

  I grinned and waved, then set off up the track towards the high ground.

  12.

  I found the hill track easily. It ran behind Arruns's farmhouse through high, broken countryside cut by ravines screened by ilex and holm-oaks and littered with huge rocks of red tufa covered with bright yellow and orange lichen. Pretty wild stuff, and nice if you like that sort of thing. Me, I prefer concrete and paving slabs where the only wildlife around is the muggers and hookers.

  I carried on back along the track towards Navius's property. I could see now, with my newly-acquired farmer's eyes, what Arruns had meant: most of the ground from the hill slopes to across the Caere road was planted with vines, but they were being grown against supports more like scaffolding tunnels than the linked lines of crosses I'd seen elsewhere. In another five years there'd be a hell of a lot of grapes down there, and at triple the yield they'd make a hell of a lot of wine. Navius would've sold it, too: the wine market in Rome is growing year by year, and although a lot of cheap stuff is starting to come in from the big commercial vineyards in Spain and Gaul supply and demand have a long way to go before they balance. Also there's the question of transport. Having
to hire space on cargo boats and carts can raise your operating costs sky-high, and there's always the danger you'll have nothing to show for it in the end but slops: cheap wines don't keep, they don't travel well, and even Suburan punters won't pay good money for vinegar. If Navius could've produced even a half- decent swigging wine in bulk this close to Rome he'd've been laughing.

  Laughing partly at other folks' expense, and at the expense of Caeretan's reputation. That was the rub. I didn't underestimate what Arruns had told me: we were dealing with livelihoods here, not just of individuals but of families, and in the country continuity, stability and the future welfare of the family is vital. The question was, had the severity of the threat been a good enough reason to kill the guy? Because if it had then things looked even blacker for Papatius.

  The track branched to the right, and I could see a farmhouse further down the slope. That would be the Navius place. Well, it had to be done sooner or later, and at least with Priscus off the hook the dead boy's mother might be more ready to talk to me. What had Mamilius said her name was? It began with an 'S': Sulpicia, Sedilia...

  I couldn't remember. I'd just have to play it by ear.

  I took the right fork and came down the hill through the vine terraces. The villa was easily as big as Nepos's and it looked prosperous, with half a dozen slaves in the yard and a busy feel to it. I went up to the nearest guy - he was plaiting a wicker grape basket - and introduced myself.

  'The mistress at home?' I said.

  'Yes, sir. She's in the garden. If you'd like to follow me?' The guy was pretty cool, but polite enough: maybe the news that Meataxe Priscus hadn't zeroed the young master after all had got here ahead of me. I hoped so. There ain't nothing more embarrassing than paying a social call on the mother of someone your relative's been accused of putting underground before his time.

  'Thanks, pal.' I fell in beside him. 'You mind telling me the lady's name, by the way?'

  The slave gave me a funny look; well, I suppose to his ears it was a fairly half-assed question.

  'Sicinia,' he said. 'Sicinia Rufina.'

  Yeah. That had been it. Two names, too: we were dealing with quality here. I wished I had a clothes brush to brush some of Arruns's ditch off my tunic.

  The basket-plaiter led me through a gate in a neatly-clipped hedge and into a rose garden. Prosperous was right: it was laid out with gravel paths, and besides the roses there were fig and plum trees and beds of ornamental herbs. There was even a marble fountain decorated with passable cupids sitting on dolphins.

  The lady was ensconced in a natty little gazebo overlooking the garden. I saw her stiffen when she saw me coming, but she was polite enough when I told her my name. She must've been in her late forties, but she'd been a looker once and her sky-blue mantle wasn't Caere make.

  'Won't you sit down, Valerius Corvinus?' she said. 'Lucius. Tell Crito to bring us some wine. And grape juice for me.'

  The slave left. I pulled up the gazebo's other chair.

  'Well.' She leaned back. 'And what can I do for you?'

  I cleared my throat. 'First my condolences. I'm sorry about your son.'

  'Yes. Attus was a good boy.' She stared past me at the roses. 'A very good boy. I'll miss him very much. You'll no doubt be relieved, however, that your stepfather is no longer under suspicion of his murder?'

  'Uh, yeah.' I felt uncomfortable. Well, at least that was out of the way. 'You know Larth Papatius has been arrested?'

  'So Gaius Aternius informed me.' Her lips tightened.

  'He stopped by this morning?'

  'Oh, yes. His family and ours are old friends; very old friends indeed. Aternius's uncle went to school with my late husband.'

  'That'd be Quintus Cominius, the Caeretan mayor?' She nodded. So. That explained the high-level proprietorial interest in the case. I was surprised, though, that Smooth-Chops hadn't mentioned it.

  'I'm only sorry that something can't be done about that wife of his.' Sicinia's voice took on a distinct edge. 'That's where the real responsibility lies.'

  It took me a moment to realise she was talking about Thupeltha. 'You think so?' I said cautiously.

  'Corvinus, I hope I am a charitable person, but I'm afraid I can't help hating that woman. Having got her hooks into poor Attus she had him besotted with her, and then she dropped him like a used rag. If anyone is responsible for my son's death it's she. I could even, if I'm to be completely honest with you, have a small spark of sympathy for her husband.'

  'You think she led your son on?'

  'My son was barely twenty-one years old. She is almost twice that. He had very little experience of the world, she had a great deal. What is your opinion?'

  My opinion was that the lady was suffering from a bad case of astigmatism, but I wasn't going to say so. And for all I knew she could be right. I'd only Thupeltha's word for things, after all. I moved onto more delicate ground. 'Could she have had a motive for seducing your son do you think, Sicinia Rufina? Apart from sex, that is?'

  Sicinia closed her eyes briefly: I had the idea that the word 'sex' wasn't used all that much in the Navius household. 'Attus was quite a wealthy young man,' she said, 'well-connected, especially on my side, and with good prospects. I hesitate to say she initiated the affair for purely mercenary reasons, especially given the outcome, but I would not discount them altogether. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that had been tried.'

  The house slave appeared with the wine tray. I noticed that the jug and the cups were good quality silver, and Sicinia's grape juice came in a Syrian glass beaker. We were moving in high circles here, no provincial tat: the lady had taste, and evidently the money to indulge it. I hadn't missed that 'especially on my side', either.

  The guy poured and left, and I took a swig...

  The wine burst into song on my tongue. Jupiter! This was no home-made Caeretan. Obviously whatever Navius's opinions were on growing cheapo grapes they didn't affect what he kept in his own cellar.

  Sicinia had been watching me, a slight smile on her lips.

  'You like the wine?' she said.

  'Yeah.' I took another mouthful. Liquid velvet! 'Falernian, right? And top-of-the-range stuff.'

  'Indeed. Thirty years old, or so I'm told, although I take very little interest in wine myself, at any level. My cousin sends it.'

  'Your cousin knows his wines.'

  The smile broadened. 'He should. Unlike my late husband, you see, I'm not from this region; my family come from Campania, Pompeii originally, and we've been in the wine business for years, on the trading rather than the production side. My cousin is the present head of the firm. He specialises in the quality varieties, especially Falernian and Faustinian. This is one of his best.' She indicated the jug. 'Do help yourself, please.'

  I didn't wait to be asked twice. 'You said it wasn't the first time a woman had got involved with your son?' I prompted gently as I topped up my cup.

  'That is so.' Sicinia sipped her grape juice. 'One of our neighbours – an ex-centurion – had a granddaughter.' Her voice was genteely disapproving. 'A pleasant enough girl, but half foreign, very obviously so. You know the type: large, busty, blonde haired, blue eyed, quite impossible. He – the grandfather – was under the impression that the girl had some sort of a claim on Attus; ridiculous, of course, the boy was hardly more than a child. And there would have been almost no dowry to speak of. Gaius – my late husband, he was alive then – sent him off with a flea in his ear.'

  The hairs lifted just a little on my neck.

  'Just a question, Sicinia Rufina,' I said, 'and forgive me for asking it; but how did your husband die?'

  There was a pause. 'He was out riding,' she said finally. 'He fell from his horse, hit his head and never regained consciousness. That was almost exactly a year ago.'

  The prickling grew stronger. Shit; and I'd somehow got the impression from the sisters that the guy had died of a fever or something similar. A head injury, eh? That was interesting. Might be interesting.

&
nbsp; Sicinia was frowning. 'Our family has always been....I hesitate to say clumsy, but certainly accident-prone. On the male side, at any rate. Indeed Navius himself is' – she stopped – 'was recovering from a broken forearm occasioned when he fell down the hayloft ladder last month.'

  'Yeah?' I pricked up my ears. That was interesting too. 'Were there any witnesses?'

  That got me a glare; accidents, seemingly, were one thing, but any suggestion of foul play was bad form. 'I was present myself, as it happens. He simply misplaced a foot. He found the convalescence very irksome. Attus always was a very energetic boy, and he actually enjoyed physical labour. That was something I often found difficult to understand.'

  Yeah; she would. 'Did your son have any other enemies? Or people that might wish him ill, rather?' I said when her mouth opened to protest: precious darlings like Attus Navius clearly couldn't have enemies from first principles.

  'Of course not. Attus was very popular. Naturally there's that dreadful old man Larcius Arruns who insists that he owns two of our vineyard terraces, but he was always an embarrassment rather than a danger, and to give him his due I don't believe he would stoop to violence. Not that Attus's death would have improved his position to the slightest degree.' Sicinia frowned again. 'Corvinus, am I to understand from the tenor of your questions that you don't believe Larth Papatius killed my son?'

  Astigmatic or not the lady was no fool. I gave her the simple truth.

  'I don't know,' I said. 'Sure, I'm nine-tenths certain he did, and the more I find out the more things point that way, but there's still that last tenth. How about you? Have you any views yourself?'

  She was quiet for a long time. Finally she gave the ghost of a smile. 'No,' she said. 'To be honest, I have not. But I do know that whoever murdered Attus was quite mad. He was a lovely boy, he had everything to live for, he'd offended no one and he would have grown up a credit to our family and to Vetuliscum. His murder was completely without sense and an insult to rationality in any form. And whoever was responsible for it, catching them will not bring him back.'