Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  Delicate was the word. Well, I supposed a clout on the head was a small price to pay for a fresh lead, but all the same I had the distinct impression the big guy enjoyed his work, and he was less than gruntled how things had panned out.

  We didn't talk a lot on the way back to the wineshop

  27.

  I'd just settled in with another jug of Privernatian and was taking things slow and easy when Perilla and the Princess showed up from their marathon temple bash, full of the joys of entablatures and acroteria. The lady took one look at what Baro had left of me and blew her wig.

  'And just what the hell happened to you?' she said.

  I winced. 'Don't shout so loud or everyone'll want to look like this. And don't swear, it isn't ladylike. Sit down and have a fruit juice.'

  'Corvinus, you do not get out of this by cracking jokes!' She was prodding at the duck's egg lump all the best purple-stripers were wearing that year. This time I yelped in earnest: Perilla may be pretty hot-smart in several departments, but a second Hippocrates she's not. I've met less ham-fisted gladiator trainers. 'Merciful Juno, you need a doctor! This is a cut! It's bleeding!'

  'Yeah, they do that. Just leave it alone and don't encourage it. And no doctors.' I looked at Marilla, who was staring at me with eyes like dinner plates. 'Hi, Princess. You have a nice time?'

  Perilla sat down. She'd gone very quiet suddenly, and she looked pale. 'Marcus, please,' she said softly. 'No jokes, no irrelevancies and no subterfuge. Just tell me what happened.'

  So I did. Dwelling on the fact that it was a once-off, not to be repeated, and Tolumnius and I had done a deal. 'And I know now who the phantom Aulus is,' I said. 'He runs a business of some kind in Caere. If we start back now you can drop me off and -'

  'We are not going to Caere,' Perilla said firmly. 'We are going to find you a doctor and then we are going straight back home. Is that absolutely clear, or do I have to hit you again myself?'

  Uh-oh. I knew that tone. When the lady was in this mood you might as well argue with a rock. Yeah, well, perhaps she was right: I did feel pretty woozy, and I was still having difficulty telling which of the two wine cups on the table in front of me was the real one.

  'Okay,' I said. 'You've got it. Ask the guy inside. I think I'll just sit here and throb.'

  We were lucky: doctors aren't too thick on the ground out in the sticks, but the wineshop owner pointed us towards an ex-army surgeon who'd settled in Pyrgi and had a freelance practice in the town square. While Perilla fussed over me the Princess ran to where they'd left Lysias with the carriage and had him pick us up. Then after a fairly unpleasant half hour of medical treatment we went bowling up the road back towards Vetuliscum.

  Despite the heat outside the temperature in the carriage was close to freezing: once she'd got me safely salved and bandaged, I'd drunk the disgusting concoction the surgeon had made out of his old legionary boots, and the Princess was carefully out of earshot on Corydon, Perilla finally let rip.

  'Corvinus, I despair, I really do. I indulge you by leaving you for five minutes soaking yourself in a wineshop while the child and I improve our minds and you contrive to get your head beaten in by a gang of criminals. Why on earth can't you have a normal day out like a proper civilised person?'

  Gods! Where do you start? 'First of all it wasn't five minutes, lady, it was more like three hours,' I said. 'Second, all I did was go across the street for a leak. Third, my head's still the shape it was, give or take the extra temporary bulge. And fourth, on the plus side, we're one more step along the road to finding who the killer is.' I paused; be fair, Corvinus. 'I'll give you the criminals, though.'

  She sniffed: one thing about Perilla, once she's settled down, even when she's being unreasonable she's open to argument. 'You're sure? About the killer?'

  'No. But at least it shows that Vesia wasn't spinning me a yarn. And it proves Titus Tolumnius's bona fides. Whoever this Aulus Bubo is, he's a guy I have to talk to.'

  She settled back against the cushions; crisis over. I breathed again. 'Actually,' she said, 'I've been thinking. Along quite different lines.'

  'Yeah?'

  'Your theory about Gaius Aternius being involved may not be so ludicrous after all.'

  I blinked. In the stir of recent events I'd forgotten about Aternius. And for Perilla to backtrack or admit the barest possibility that she might be wrong or mistaken over something was as unusual as seeing the High Priest of Jupiter slide down the steps of the Capitol on a tin tray.

  'Gee, thanks,' I said.

  'Or at least not totally so.' Sarcasm just bounces off Perilla. 'You say he and his uncle have an interest in acquiring property, and that they're none too scrupulous.'

  'Yeah, that's right. At least that's what the guy in the wineshop told me.'

  'Mmm. Then if you look at this business from the financial and sociological angles it might well make sense.'

  'Yeah? From the financial and sociological angles, eh?' Jupiter! Those were a couple that had slipped past me somehow. 'You care to explain, lady?'

  'Certainly.' She straightened a fold in her mantle. 'It's all about property. First, Clusinus's death frees his farm; at least there's a good chance Vesia will sell up, and with the condition the place is in the price won't be high. Second, if Papatius is executed for the murder then his land may be up for sale as well.'

  'He's not the owner. Thupeltha is.'

  'I know. But Papatius is the actual hands-on farmer of the partnership. Thupeltha would have to bring in a bailiff, and that would eat into her profits as well as being unsatisfactory in other ways. Also, life in Vetuliscum as the widow of a convicted murderer, especially when the victim was a local man, wouldn't be easy. If Papatius does die then personally I won't be surprised if Thupeltha decides to leave the district.'

  'She could always stay put and marry again. Knowing that lady, finding another husband wouldn't be a problem.'

  'A remarriage wouldn't wipe out the past. And however thick- skinned the woman is or pretends to be she's given rise to enough scandal to make her life here thoroughly unpleasant in future. Don't forget that it's only the threat of Papatius that's kept tongues from wagging publicly so far, and her affairs with both Navius and Clusinus must be common knowledge by now.’

  'Fair enough.' I was getting seriously interested. 'Go on.'

  'Thirdly, there's the Navius property. Again with both the male members of the family dead continuity is far from assured. And you said yourself that Gaius Aternius is making eyes at Attus Navius's mother.'

  I sat back. Long words or not, the lady might have something here: the three properties formed an unbroken line, and together they made up half of Vetuliscum. If Aternius could get the Navius place by marriage and tack the other two on at knockdown prices he'd be the biggest landowner in the area bar none; and with one property producing top-quality wines and a second ready to roll with mass-production, this close to Rome he could clean up.

  Was it worth murder, though? Not just once, but two times; three, counting Hilarion (why the hell had that guy died?). Maybe; I didn't know, although if you're going to kill someone you can do a lot worse than get yourself appointed as the officer investigating the case. It would explain why Aternius was so keen to see Larth Papatius chopped, too.

  'Well, Marcus?' Perilla was looking at me. 'What do you think? Is it possible?'

  I shrugged. 'Anything's possible. Certainly it sounds good, and like you say it's another angle. I might do a little digging when I'm in Caere tomorrow seeing this Aulus Bubo. Go round and talk to Aternius himself, maybe, see if the bastard sweats.'

  The chill was back. 'Corvinus, the doctor told you to rest for at least a day. Going to Caere is not resting.'

  'These guys always overestimate recuperation time in case the patient dies and the family drop round with hatchets. I'm fine, Perilla. Or I will be after a decent dinner and a good night's sleep.'

  'We'll see.'

  'Yeah. We will.' I leaned over and kissed her. Actually,
I wasn't spinning a line: whatever had been in that boiled boot stuff was working marvels, and my head didn't feel quite like a dozen sadistic-minded elephants were using it as a football any more. Half a dozen, sure, but at least that was an improvement.

  Besides, I'd had experience of Perilla's brand of post-op care before. In essence it consisted of strained chicken broth and a total ban on wine, and it was as debilitating as hell. Me, I'd rather have the elephants.

  28.

  I got my way. By breakfast time next morning the cut wasn't looking nearly so angry and the swelling was down. I could even manage without the bandage. Still, Perilla insisted that I take Lysias and the carriage into Caere, even if it was only a half-hour's walk.

  Maybe the carriage was a good idea in any case. The weather was changing, heading for the autumn break. We'd had a scorching few days, but the morning was close and muggy, with thunder rumbling in the hills. It couldn't be long to the rains, and getting caught by a cloudburst out in the open with nowhere to run to would be no joke.

  We were rounding the first bend when I caught sight of Larcius Arruns. The guy was on foot, heading the same direction we were. I thumped on the carriage roof for Lysias to pull up and leaned out of the window.

  'Hey, Arruns,' I shouted. He turned. 'You headed for Caere?'

  'I might be.'

  'Want a lift?'

  That got me a long slow stare.

  'Maybe.'

  I grinned. Jupiter! Talk about grudging! 'Fine.' I opened the door. 'Climb aboard.' He did, and Lysias whipped up the horses. 'You get the rest of your ditch cleared without my help?'

  'Don't get cocky, Corvinus.' He was scowling. 'You did well enough, but ten days in the country don't make a farmer.'

  'Make that nine, pal. And I've counted every joyous hour.'

  'Is that so, now?' The scowl cleared. He chuckled and prodded the cushions before settling back against them. 'Nice carriage you have here. First time I've been in one of these things. They're fine for long journeys, but I wouldn't like to use them that often.'

  'Me neither.'

  We trundled along for a bit in companionable silence. Then Arruns said:

  'I hear that you were round at the Caere records office a day or so back.'

  I glanced at him sharply. 'That's right, I was. You've got big ears, pal.'

  'Maybe, but this time I didn't need them. The boy who looks after it's my grandson Publius. His mother lives near the Fufluns Gate.'

  'Uh-huh.' I tried not to let my surprise show; for some reason I'd thought Arruns was a bachelor, but then maybe his wife was dead, like Mamilius's. And if the clerk had been Arruns's grandson it explained why he'd done a double-take when I'd asked to see the bill of sale. 'He's a smart lad.'

  'Oh, he is that. A credit to the family. Enjoys his work, too.' He was looking out of the window at the fields we were passing: I've noticed that about farmers, they pay more attention to what's growing on the ground either side of the road they're on than to the person they're talking to. 'So. You were checking up on that vineyard sale.'

  There was no point in denying it. 'Sure.'

  'And you found out that the man who witnessed it was Quintus Cominius's father. Aternius's grandfather.'

  'Yeah.'

  He turned back to me. 'I was wondering, after we talked, if you might've thought the vineyard was a reason for me to murder Attus Navius.'

  Well, that was direct enough, anyway. 'Were you, now?' I said carefully. 'And why would I do that?'

  'You'd have cause. And as far as the vineyard goes you're right, I want it back and always have done. Navius's death has improved my chances. His father's dead, and the family've got no real roots here; old Velthur was the first of them, he moved over from Veii seventy years back. With Attus gone too Sicinia Rufina'll be thinking of selling up and moving into town, maybe even to Rome. I've got a bit put by, and I'd be willing to offer any new owner a fair price for the land. More than a fair price.'

  'Why pay good money for something you think is yours already?'

  'Because that vineyard's important to me, Corvinus. It's family land, it's always been family land, and it belongs to us. I wouldn't pay a penny to these Navii crooks out of principle, but the money itself doesn't matter. A stranger would be different. Only there's one thing I want you to remember.'

  'Yeah? And what's that?' I tried to keep my voice light.

  His eyes held mine. 'That I'm no killer. I wouldn't murder anyone just for a piece of land, however badly I wanted it. That stretch of vineyard's waited fifty years already, it can wait a bit longer. We'll have it back eventually, if not me then Publius or his sons or grandsons. The family's got a long memory, and that's what's important. More important than changing the name on a title deed. You understand me?'

  'Yeah.' I swallowed; the guy was serious, deadly serious. But then I had the impression that Arruns was that sort of person. 'I understand.'

  'Good. That's all I wanted to say.' He opened the coach door. Lysias pulled up. 'Thanks for the lift, but I think I'll walk after all.' He paused. 'Oh. One more thing. You might like to have a word with a man called Marcus Veluscius. You'll find him in Three Heroes Street near the Bronzeworkers' Guildhouse.'

  'Yeah? And why would I want to do that?' I said; but he was already out and striding up the road like a thirty-year-old. He didn't look up as we passed, either.

  I settled back to think.

  So. It looked like turning out to be another busy morning. I'd got Aulus Bubo to see, then Gaius Aternius. Now for reasons of his own Arruns had added this guy Veluscius to the list.

  The agreement with Perilla had been that I'd take the coach in, not ride around in it when I arrived or use it for the return trip, so I got Lysias to drop me in the main square and then sent him back to Vetuliscum. Hair-splitting, yeah, and on the shady side of sneaky, but I really hate using these things any more than I have to, and the lady knew it. Besides, the threat of rain had gone and it was too good a day not to walk.

  With the help of a friendly local fruit seller I found Lampmakers' Street no bother: a long straight alley running north-west from the centre towards the walls. I'd gone about fifty yards down it when I met a funeral procession coming in the opposite direction. There ain't no way to beat one of these things. I squeezed as far as I could against the blank house-wall that edged the pavement and waited for it to pass.

  Whoever was being burned may not have been from one of the top families –I couldn't see any magistrates' mantles among the fake ancestors escorting the stretcher – but they hadn't been short of a gold piece or two: there were a good half-dozen double flutes wailing away and the same number of bugles, and the masked professional mourners playing the ancestors weren't the half-drunk specimens you sometimes get if you try to cheese-pare. The dead guy himself was wrapped in a good quality mantle, and although for some reason the face was covered I caught the glint of gold on his arms. The surprise was the strength of the burial party: I'd've expected a real crowd at a top-notch funeral like this, but besides the widow – at least I assumed it was the widow, a big woman in a pricey mantle with a hatchet of a nose I could see even through her veil – there were only a handful of tough-looking guys who looked as out of place as nightclub bouncers in a ballet class.

  I stayed respectfully still until the tail-enders had passed me and then carried on down the street. Another fifty yards on, the houses gave way to shops, mostly belonging to the lampmakers who gave the street its name. One of these, next to a place with the shutters up and the padlock on, had a guy lounging outside it, obviously the owner touting for trade. I went up to him.

  'Excuse me,' I said. 'I'm looking for an Aulus Bubo.'

  The guy gave me a strange look. 'Yeah?' he said.

  Jupiter! All the tradesmen in Caere to choose from and I had to strike lucky! 'I was told he had a shop around here.'

  'You were told right.' The man nodded at the shuttered counter. 'That's Bubo's. But you've just missed him.'

  'Is tha
t so, now? You think he'll be back soon?'

  'It isn't likely.'

  I kept hold of my temper. 'Then you think you could possibly tell me where I can find him, friend?'

  The man grinned. 'You could try the cemetery on the other side of town. After that it's anyone's guess.'

  Oh, shit; the penny dropped. I turned round to look at the retreating funeral, then back to Smiler. 'You mean that was him? He's dead?'

  'Well, if he isn't he's due for a hell of a shock in an hour or so.' The grin widened. 'It'd serve the bastard right, too. Give him a taste of what's to come.'

  Jupiter on a tightrope! What had happened to Of the dead, nothing but good? I wasn't particularly superstitious, but I shivered and made the sign.

  Smiler chuckled. 'Don't bother, Roman,' he said. 'Any god that's listening would agree. Bubo was a crook. He only got what he deserved.'

  'Yeah?' I said. 'And what was that?'

  'Some enterprising bugger dropped by a couple of nights back and flattened his head with a hammer.'

  I stared at him, my jaw slack.

  Oh, fuck.

  29.

  'He was murdered?'

  'Unless he managed to beat his own brains in and hide the weapon afterwards, sure.' Smiler was clearly enjoying himself. Either he was a complete bastard himself or Bubo had been a neighbour from hell. Probably both.

  Gods! This I hadn't expected, and it was a real bummer. 'You care to tell me what happened exactly?' I said.

  The man shrugged. 'I work normal hours, friend, and I wasn't here. All I know is that the shop was open when I turned up the next morning, which it shouldn't've been because Bubo didn't usually roll in until midday. Half way through the afternoon he had a customer and the guy came straight out gagging.'

  'You didn't think to check earlier?'

  'Why should I?'

  Yeah, that added up: conscientious fellow-tradesman ever ready to keep a watchful eye on his neighbour's affairs this bugger wasn't. 'It might've saved you some embarrassing questions, pal. Like what was to stop you having slipped in sometime over the previous few hours and croaked the guy yourself.'