Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  'Caecina doesn't exactly say so, but yes, I suppose it might be seen that way.'

  That put the seal on the business. Well, it had to be done eventually, and the longer I put it off the worse it would be. Bathyllus was still hanging around on the fringes. I beckoned him over.

  'Go and find Alexis, little guy,' I said. 'I want a message taking over to Larcius Arruns.' Perilla looked at me wide-eyed, but she didn't speak. 'Tell Alexis to ask him to meet me in the vineyard at the top end of his property in an hour's time. He'll know the one I mean.' Bathyllus turned to go. I caught his arm. 'No. Wait a minute. Scratch that. Ask him to meet me beside his family tomb.'

  I knew the whole of the why now. Maybe I should've written the request out formally. After all, how often do you send messages to a king in exile?

  The sky above the hills to the east was looking black as a Nubian's armpit when I climbed the last stretch of path between the terraces. Arruns was already there, standing next to the wide catchment trench that led to the vertical shaft of Attus Navius's half-completed storm drain. I'd tucked my knife into its wrist sheath, but I didn't think I'd need it: the time for killing was past, on either side.

  'So, Corvinus,' he said when we were close enough to talk. 'You know.'

  'Would you rather I didn't?'

  It should've been a stupid question, but even as I asked it I knew it wasn't. He shook his head.

  'No. I wouldn't have let Papatius die in any case. And it doesn't matter now anyway. The tomb's safe. There's no one left alive outside the family who knows it's here.' His eyes flickered. 'Except you.'

  Uh-oh. Maybe I'd been wrong about the killing being over. Slowly, so he didn't think I was reaching for a weapon, I undid the fastenings of the small bag I'd brought with me and took out the contents.

  'I won't tell,' I said. 'You have my word. And I think these belong to you.'

  He looked down at the things, then back to me: a long, slow, appraising stare. Then he grunted and held out his hands. I put the cup and the Owl's bracelet into them. The atmosphere suddenly felt a lot lighter.

  'All right,' he said. 'I might just believe you. You want to see it before we go and finish this?'

  I didn't have to ask what he meant by 'it'. The hairs lifted on my neck.

  'Maybe,' I said. 'In a minute. Let me just check the facts first. For my own satisfaction.'

  'If you like.'

  'Navius found the tomb when he was digging his new storm drain shafts to carry water from the mountain under the terracing.'

  'No. He never knew it was there.' Arruns nodded towards the shaft. 'That stops three feet short of the roof. I was lucky; he had an accident and broke his arm. Trouble was, it was only a matter of time before he started digging again, and I'd no way of stopping him.' His lips twisted. 'Bar the one, of course. There I only had to wait for an opportunity.' Yeah; I remembered now: Sicinia had said that her son had broken his arm in a fall from a ladder and been laid up for a month. Well, it'd given him that much longer, I supposed. 'I was sorry about Navius, even if I didn't like his family. He'd the makings of a good farmer. The real bastard was Titus Clusinus.'

  'Okay. Let's leave Clusinus for a moment,' I said. 'Next bit. The morning Navius died you'd been in Caere buying a mule. On your way back just shy of Vetuliscum you saw him turning up Clusinus's track after Thupeltha.'

  'I didn't see the woman. Not at first, anyway. I thought Navius was alone. An opportunity, like I said.'

  'Yeah.' Jupiter, the guy was calm enough! It was like we were discussing the price of pigs. 'So. You left the mule tied up in the bushes out of sight of the road and followed him from above along the high ground. You waited until he'd left Thupeltha, then went after him and killed him. After that you went back to where you'd left the mule and saw it was gone.'

  Arruns grinned. 'Bastard must've slipped his tether,' he said. 'I couldn't understand that. I still can't because I put a knot in the nose-rope. I assumed some bugger'd stolen him until your slave came round the next day asking questions about a stray.'

  'Yeah. So you carried on into Vetuliscum on foot. You weren't too worried about the missing mule giving you away because even if he did turn up no one locally'd know he was yours.' I paused. 'Only someone did; a guy called Hilarion who was staying with Licinius Nepos and who'd seen you that morning in Caere. Right?'

  'Right. I was lucky. Your lad came to me before he went to Nepos's place. Hilarion mightn't've made the connection but he was a friend of your family's and I couldn't take the risk. He had to die. I'm sorry about him as well.'

  'Uh-huh.' His matter-of-fact tone was chilling. I kept my voice level. 'Okay. Now we come to Clusinus. He was the one actually found the tomb. Was that an accident too?'

  He shrugged. 'That I don't know. I have my theories. Clusinus spent a lot of time hunting on the high ground. The day after Navius broke his arm I was up here checking the shaft. If Clusinus had seen me from above I wouldn't put it past him to put two and two together because the bastard had a nose for things like that. Certainly the next time I checked, about ten days later, the hole'd been deepened and the tomb breached.'

  'So you watched.'

  'I watched, but I never saw anything. It wasn't until I'd killed Navius that I found it was Clusinus. Then I followed him to Bubo.' Yeah; that made sense. Clusinus would already've taken the bracelet he needed to set up the deal, plus Thupeltha's bracelet and the cup; there was no point in pulling any more stuff out before he had things off and running. And by that time he was dead. 'I've no regrets about killing these two. They deserved everything they got.'

  'The hurdle? That was in memory of Turnus Herdonius, right?'

  'It was.' Another mirthless grin. 'I'm impressed, Corvinus. You've done your homework. Bubo I meant to knife, but then I saw the hammer leaning against the wall and used that instead.'

  'Yeah? And why would you do that now?'

  'It was for Charun, the underworld demon who protects the tomb. Charun kills with a hammer. I wanted both of the bastards to go below knowing Tarquin had sent them there himself. By proxy, if you like.'

  Gods! Talk about warped! Even Perilla hadn't spotted that one! Still, there was a sort of crazy logic to it.

  He was looking at me with a half-smile on his lips. 'So? No more questions?'

  'No. I think that about covers it.'

  'Then I have a question for you. What do you intend to do now?'

  The hard ones first. 'That depends. Clusinus and Bubo, I'd have no quarrel with you there, pal. Like you say, they're no loss and they brought it on themselves. Navius and Hilarion are a different matter. Sure, I take your arguments, but they weren't executions, they were murders. And there's still Larth Papatius.'

  He nodded. 'Yes. And like I said it doesn't matter. The tomb's safe, and Publius – you remember Publius? My nephew in the records office? – Publius knows it's here. He's a good boy, a credit to the family, and he'll have my land after I'm gone. He'll look after it.' Another shrug. 'Don't worry, Corvinus. I'll give you no trouble. There're no hard feelings, either.'

  'Fine. You want to go, then?'

  'Of course. Once I've said goodbye to the king.'

  42.

  He'd brought a rope and a couple of lamps with him. While I watched he climbed down the shaft of the storm drain – these things have steps built into the sides – then paused and looked up.

  'You coming?' he said.

  I felt the cold sweat break out all over. I wasn't scared of Arruns; murderer he may have been, but the guy was honest by his own lights. What frightened me was staring down that black hole and knowing (or rather not knowing) what was waiting at the bottom. Like I say, you don't mess with the dead. Still, if I funked out now I knew I'd regret it all my life. After all, how many people get to see the inside of a tomb belonging to a legend?

  Curiosity won. I offered up a quick prayer to whatever god or goddess looked after brain-dead smartasses who didn't have the sense they were born with and set off down the shaft.


  There was just room enough at the foot for both of us to stand with what proved to be the capstone of the tomb between us. Somebody – Clusinus, probably – had hammered an iron staple into a crevice in the shaft wall, and Arruns tied the rope to it. Then he lifted up the capstone.

  Blank darkness yawned at me, and a chill breath touched my legs. I shivered, the hairs crawling on my scalp.

  Arruns threw one end of the rope down. I heard it hit the floor somewhere below. He took a firm grip and eased himself over the edge. The top of his head disappeared into the blackness under my feet.

  I waited. There was the sound of a strike-light and then the glow of a lamp. I could see the floor now, or part of it: stone slabs, about ten feet down.

  'Come on, Corvinus. It's safe enough.'

  A drop of sweat ran down past my ear. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

  Okay. So here goes...

  My legs wouldn't move. I didn't blame them. Me, given the preference, I'd rather jump into a tiger pit.

  'Corvinus!'

  I swallowed, took a hold of the rope and went down it. My sandals hit stone and I let go.

  Arruns was lighting the other lamp. I looked round...

  We weren't alone. The third man was lying on a couch as if he was at a dinner party, watching me closely. He had a neat pointed beard, almond eyes and a faint smile to his mouth. I almost screamed before I realised he was a life-sized clay figure and the couch was the top of a clay coffin.

  So that was what Rome's last king had looked like. I glanced at Arruns. Yeah. Same cheekbones, same bone structure. Family tomb, right enough.

  The back of my neck felt cold.

  Then I noticed what else was in the room. The place wasn't big, sure, no more than ten feet by ten, but apart from the bit of floor we were standing on it was packed: chests, jars, a jumble of vases, weapons. Even a big old shield you could've used to fricassé a sheep in. Most of the chests were open, and from some of them came the glint of gold and silver.

  Then there were the walls...

  Paintings have never turned me on, but these were something else. We were in the middle of some sort of huge eternal party, with flute-players and acrobats and gladiators. And the figures were alive. They moved and flickered in the lamplight, spinning and turning like they were dancing to music I couldn't hear. I let my eyes wander round the room, taking it all in, pushing down the thought that maybe it wasn't my imagination, maybe the bastards were alive. Or something. Finally I looked back at the man on the couch. The fingers of his right hand had been contoured to hold a cup – the cup I'd returned to Arruns with the bracelet: that was on the statue's wrist, just as the cup was back in his hand – and he was raising it to me, like you would in a toast. Only this toast had lasted five hundred years.

  That felt eerie. Eerie as hell.

  'Shit,' I whispered. Finally I remembered to close my mouth.

  Arruns was standing beside the couch, perfectly at ease like he belonged there. He laid his hand on the man's head.

  'Meet Lars Tarquin,' he said.

  I swallowed, and the spittle tasted harsh. I could've murdered a cup of neat Setinian. There was probably wine in one of those jars, but even if it'd been drinkable I wouldn't've touched it for a Parthian satrapy.

  'Family secret, right?' I said.

  'From the beginning. He died at Cumae, a guest of the Greek Aristodemus. That was after Porsenna captured Rome and broke his promise to bring him back.'

  Despite my other preoccupations I frowned. 'Hang on, pal. Porsenna never captured Rome. His army withdrew.'

  'History's written by the winners, Corvinus. Forget Horatius and the bridge, that was a lie, it never happened. Lars Porsenna took Rome and set up a puppet government. It was only after the Latins and Cumaean Greeks joined together and killed his son Arruns at Aricia that your ancestor Publicola and his shower got to keep what they'd stolen. Forget the story of the rape, too. Lucretia never existed, or if she did Sextus Tarquin never touched her.'

  Uh-oh. Did I detect a smidgin of fanaticism here? Sure, the guy might be right – I've always distrusted these stories of stiff-lipped squeaky-clean heroes and heroines renouncing evil and winning out against incredible odds – but what did it matter after five hundred years? Besides, I've made it a rule never to mix with religion or politics. Sex, sure, no problem, but not these two.

  I backpedalled.

  'So if he died in Cumae why's he buried here?'

  'The family owned all the land round Vetuliscum. My property's all that's left, the bit we hung on to. He didn't want to be buried an exile, among Greeks, and Rome was obviously impossible. At the same time, Caere had rejected him. Clusium and the other cities of the League, too.' Arruns's hand still lay on the statue's head; it was almost a caress. 'So he chose to come home without anyone knowing, after he was dead. No big tomb, no ceremonies, no records. Only the family. He's been here ever since.'

  'In that case how?' I began; which was as far as I got before the world erupted.

  The bang came from directly overhead, and it nearly lifted me out of my skin. Both of us looked up towards the opening in the ceiling. A moment later water began pouring through it like someone had sawn through an aqueduct. My sandals were covered before I could even yell.

  Shit. The rains. The storm had broken directly overhead. And of course with the capstone removed the tomb was acting like the outlet to Navius's drain. The difference being that there was no outlet hole...

  I went for the rope and started to climb. The water slammed down in a solid mass, filling my eyes and ears and nostrils so that I couldn't see or hear, or even breathe. It was like trying to scale a waterfall. I felt my hands slipping. I opened my mouth to shout, only to have that filled too. I choked and let go of the rope altogether...

  And there were shoulders under my feet, and someone gripped my ankles and pushed up. I reached through the water and grabbed blindly for anything I could get. My outstretched fingers met stone, scrabbled across it and hooked themselves over an edge.

  I gripped it, pulled myself up and through the gap. I was still under water but the shaft was much wider than the hole, and the current was less. I stood. The shaft was full to waist depth and water was pouring in from above as fast as it flowed out, but at least there was air. I took in several long, shuddering breaths...

  Arruns.

  Sweet Jupiter; he was trapped! The rate water was flowing down into the tomb the place would be flooded to the ceiling in minutes. Sure, I could put the capstone on and it might block the base of the shaft, but the shaft itself would still fill up: Navius had done a good job, and most of the rain that fell on the hillslope above us was being channelled into it. The ground wouldn't absorb much either: after the baking it'd had over the summer months it was bone dry, and water ran off it like oil dropped on a hot skillet.

  I took another deep breath and went under again with my eyes open. This time it was easier, because the current was with me. I found the hole and shoved my head and shoulders through, leaning sideways to where the jet thinned out and there was air.

  I strained back against the pressure from above and shook the blindness out of my eyes. The place was a quarter full already. It looked like the blunt end of a shipwreck.

  Arruns was standing next to the king's coffin, holding both the lamps, looking up at me.

  'Grab the rope!' I yelled. 'I'll pull you out!'

  He shook his head. 'No.'

  'You stupid bugger! If you stay down here any longer you'll drown! Now grab the fucking rope!'

  Another shake of the head. 'I'm staying here, Corvinus. Put on the capstone. At least that way we might save the tomb.'

  'You can put the bloody capstone on yourself from up here! Arruns, for Jupiter's sake..!'

  He smiled. 'That's why I'm doing this. The god sent the rain. He's punished me himself. It's a fair solution. I'd have to die anyway and I may as well do it here. Now put on the capstone and leave me in peace.'

  Shit; that was a
ll I needed: the bastard had gone religious on me. I gripped the rope and turned so my legs could clear the edge of the hole...

  'No! Wait!'

  I stopped and turned back. Arruns had put the lamps down beside the king's left elbow.

  'That's more like it,' I said. 'Now come and get the fucking rope while I still have the strength to pull.'

  'In a moment. I've something to do first.'

  I should've realised there was something wrong with his voice, but I didn't. Not that it would've mattered because I couldn't've done anything anyway. He reached into his tunic, brought out a knife, put the point against his throat and shoved.

  Blood spurted. He was dead before he hit the water.

  I looked down, numbed. The king was still smiling. The party still went on forever in the lamplight. There was nothing I could do; not now. Nothing.

  I hauled myself up out of the hole and put back the capstone, like he'd told me to.

  43.

  It took me what felt like an age to climb back into the real world. The worst of the storm was over and the black clouds were moving away westwards, but water was still pouring like a river from the higher ground. With its outlet blocked the shaft was almost half full already, and there was more to come. Not that it mattered now, of course. I walked down through the terraces to the road and set off in the direction of home, dripping all the way, feeling shattered.

  So that was that.

  Well, maybe it was for the best. Arruns had been right: he'd had to die in any case, and at least he'd got to choose his own time and place. A propos of which, I wondered about the knife. He'd been carrying it inside his tunic, not stuck through his belt, so he'd wanted to keep it hidden. The obvious explanation was that the plan – the original plan, anyway – had been to kill me before or after he'd got me down the tomb, but I had my doubts about that. My gut feeling was that the poor bastard had had enough of killing already and was glad himself that it was over; he'd come close enough to confessing unprompted that day I'd picked him up on the Caere road. Also, if he'd wanted to add me to his tally he could've done it easy when I first hit the flagstones because at that point I was in no condition to worry about a simple, human thing like a knife in the ribs.