Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  Last and not least, of course, far from trying to make a hole in me when I wasn't expecting it the guy had actually saved my life. That was the real bummer. Arruns might be a murderer four times over but I owed him, and one thing the old aristocratic code drums into you like it or not is that you pay your debts. The moral ones, anyway.

  He'd got me over a barrel, and I knew it.

  No; the knife wasn't for me. Arruns had meant to stay down there in the tomb all along, even before the flooding. That thought made me feel a bit happier, but not all that much. Mostly I just felt empty.

  The sun had almost set by the time I got to Flatworm's track, and Jupiter was growling away in the hills again, working himself up for another spat. A stiff breeze had picked up, too, and what with my still-sodden tunic I wasn't all that warm; in fact, my head felt muzzy and I was beginning to shiver. Hell, that was all I needed: the case was over, I was free to do what I liked, and all the signs were I was coming down with a bad cold or worse. Some holiday. Perilla would be thrilled to bits.

  Ah, well; at least we were into wrapping-up time, with a whole three days before Rome's answer to Solon came oiling up from the big city. I'd go and talk to Gaius Aternius tomorrow and see what I could swing...

  I sneezed. Bugger. Call it a day: hot bath, dry tunic, a pint or two of wine, a square meal and an early night. I was sorry that smoothie bastard hadn't turned out to be the murderer after all, but then that's how things go, you can't have everything.

  Arruns was dead; fine, that part of the business was settled and the account was closed, as far as it ever could be. There was only the private side of things left. So. How did I go about paying the guy back for the fact that I was still breathing?

  That I'd have to think about.

  Maybe the hot bath did the trick because I felt a lot better the next day, although my arm muscles were stiff as hell. The weather had improved too: we'd had another blaster of a storm in the night but the god had obviously blown himself out for the time being and when I set out for Caere and Aternius's place there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

  The reception I got wasn't any more cordial than it'd been the first time. Aternius's door slave checked with the master, then led me through the atrium and into the study like he'd have been happier pushing me at the end of a pole. Aternius was on one of the two reading couches, in conversation with another man with silver-grey hair and the sort of stern, noble features you associate with portrait busts by sculptors angling for a follow-up commission. He looked up and frowned.

  'Corvinus. This is a surprise. I thought you were –'

  'In Rome. Yeah, everyone does.' I grinned at the guy on the other couch. 'Quintus Cominius, I presume?'

  'Indeed.' The mayor's voice didn't fit his face; it was thin and high-pitched. I'd just bet that under that snazzy mantle he'd have spindly legs and knock knees.

  'Nice to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you.'

  'Indeed?' Shit, maybe I was wrong and he was some weird variety of giant parrot done up to look human.

  'As you can see, we are rather busy.' Aternius indicated the pile of wax tablets on the table between them.

  'Yeah, I can see that. I really can.' There was a chair near the table. I pulled it up and sat on it, then gave him my best smile and waited.

  A pause. Aternius's frown deepened.

  'I assume it's in connection with the Vetuliscum murders,' he said, 'although this close to the trial I'm surprised as the defendant's counsel you should be visiting the prosecutor.'

  'There won't be any need for a trial, pal. I came to tell you you can let Larth Papatius go. The real murderer's dead.'

  Both men were staring at me. 'What?' Aternius said.

  'Larcius Arruns. He confessed to me before he killed himself.'

  Cominius pursed his lips. 'Most irregular,' he said. 'Most irregular.'

  'Why should Arruns kill Attus Navius and Titus Clusinus?' Aternius was looking blank. 'Not to mention your mother's friend Salvius Hilarion.'

  I'd got this bit ready. 'He wanted his family vineyard back. With her husband and son both dead he thought Sicinia Rufina would sell up to an outsider and he could buy the terraces from the new owner.' I caught a quick glance between Aternius and his uncle. Uh-huh. 'Clusinus witnessed the murder and tried to blackmail him. Hilarion's more complicated, but basically the guy saw Arruns here in Caere with a mule he shouldn't've had.'

  There it was: thin, sure, although I'd kept to the truth as far as possible, but what I couldn't mention – and this was part of the payment of my debt to Arruns – was the existence of the tomb. Physically, it had gone: Lysias and Alexis had sloped up there before dawn with a couple of shovels and filled in the shaft level with the ground. With any luck Navius's drain would be forgotten like it had never existed.

  As far as Bubo was concerned, I'd no need to account for him: Aternius had never linked his death with the others in any case.

  'It's a bit thin,' Cominius said.

  So. There was a brain there, after all. I shrugged. 'Maybe. But it's the truth. Arruns is already dead, like I say, but I'm willing to take any oath you like on that.'

  'Where is Larcius Arruns?' Cominius again. Bugger; the guy was a lot smarter than he sounded. That was the question I'd been dreading, because I couldn't answer it. Sure, I could've gone back to the tomb before the lads had reburied it, pulled the guy out and carted him somewhere innocent but I didn't want to do that. Not just for the obvious reasons: he had a right to stay where he'd chosen to be, and I'd fight to the last inch to keep him there.

  I put on my best straight face. 'I don't know,' I said.

  Cominius clicked his tongue. 'Then how the hell d'you know he's dead?' he said.

  Reasonable question. And again not one I could answer.

  'I'm willing to swear that too,' I said. 'Also that he killed himself.'

  Aternius shifted irritably on his couch. 'Corvinus, we can't go to the praetor's representative with this. Even if it is the truth, you're expecting him to take your pure unvarnished word for the fact. Where's your evidence, for heaven's sake?'

  I was on firmer ground here. 'I've already met the rep,' I said. 'He's an old friend of mine.' Jupiter! I could just see Crispus's face! Still, this was the way things worked, and a pair of grafters like Aternius and Cominius would appreciate that. 'He'll take my word. Just tell him that if he's at all unsure my wife and I will be very happy to come specially to Rome and explain things to him in full at his new club.'

  Cominius looked doubtful. 'And you believe that will be sufficient?'

  I tried not to grin at the thought of how Caelius Crispus would react to that little guarantee. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, I think that would about do it.'

  Aternius sighed. 'Well, we can certainly try. As far as Papatius is concerned, though, I'm afraid we'll have to keep him in custody until the representative arrives and authorises his release.'

  Well, you win some, you lose some, and you've got to compromise. It was only three days, and the guy was safe enough: to avoid another embarrassing meeting with Perilla Crispus would've accepted my oath that the Wart had come up from Capri and done the murders himself.

  'Yeah, okay,' I said. 'There's one more thing.'

  'Yes?'

  'That scrap of vineyard. I understand you might come into ownership of it yourself quite soon. By marriage.'

  The guy coloured and glanced briefly at his uncle. 'I don't know where you got your information from,' he said, 'but yes, that is possible. Very possible, in fact.'

  'Fine. There's a young guy called Publius, last name I don't know. Works in the records office in the main square. He'll be inheriting Larcius Arruns's property and he may be making a bid for it. You think you might be interested?'

  Aternius stared at me coldly. 'Corvinus, first of all I don't answer hypothetical questions of that nature; secondly any interest I might or might not show would be none of your business. And thirdly as a convicted murderer Larcius Arruns's property is forfeit to t
he state and subject to public auction. Now I'm sorry, but we really have a lot to do this morning and –'

  'I suggest you allow Publius to inherit in any case. After all, Arruns took his own life, and surely that must weigh in his favour. When the lad makes his offer let me know you've accepted it and I'll send you a banker's draft for the same amount, cash, payable on transfer of the deed.'

  'Good gods!' Cominius murmured.

  Aternius's eyes had widened. 'You will what? Why on earth should you do that?'

  'Call it payment of a debt,' I said. 'You can collect the draft from a man called Marcus Veluscius in Three Heroes Street. Interesting guy, I don't know if you know him. We had quite a conversation a few days back about forgery and property scams.' Cominius squeaked quietly but I ignored him. 'In fact, I was thinking of inviting Veluscius and yourselves, plus your new fiancée, of course, Aternius – or is she your fiancée yet? – round to dinner when the praetor's representative arrives. She'd be fascinated, I'm sure. Oh, and the rep as well, naturally. I imagine he'd be quite interested too in his professional capacity.'

  'Ah...' Aternius's jaw had gone slack. The other guy looked like he'd swallowed a poker butt-end first.

  'Yeah. Well. Think about it.' I gave them another grin. 'Oh, and before I forget. I understand Gnaeus Vipena over at Vetuliscum has some cash for you that Titus Clusinus left with him before he died. A loan settlement. It may've slipped his mind, but when you ask him about it mention my name and remind him he put it for safe keeping inside a wine jar. The one with the faulty potter's mark.'

  'Ah...'

  That should just about do it. I stood up. 'Okay,' I said. 'I'll leave you to your business. A pleasure to talk to you, gentlemen.'

  The snooty door slave watched me leave like he was thinking about frisking me for illicitly-acquired spoons, but I didn't care. Jupiter, I'd enjoyed that! It's not often I got to indulge in a gentle bit of aristocratic in-fighting. And I reckoned Arruns would sleep a little more peacefully now.

  The holiday started here. And Rome...

  Well, maybe I'd think again about Rome.

  __________

  Author’s Note

  Most people will have some recollection of Horatius's defence of the Sublician Bridge and the subsequent withdrawal from Rome of Lars Porsenna, king of Clusium. In fact, Arruns's claim that Porsenna actually captured the city is probably historically correct, and indeed the Romans themselves, although understandably reluctant to admit to an Etruscan occupation, were aware of the alternative tradition. This is not to say that my siting of Tarquin's tomb near Caere–- the modern Cerveteri, approximately 30km north-west of Rome – has any factual justification; it does not. According to tradition, the king ended his days as a guest of the Greek Aristodemus of Cumae, some 20km from Naples, and was buried at that place.

  On the other hand, apart from that bald statement there is no other record in ancient literature of the tomb itself, and its site (unlike, say, that of the king's son Arruns on the edge of the Valle Ariccia some 25km from Rome) remained and remains unascribed. More useful still, for my purposes as devil's advocate working within the laissez-faire sphere of fiction, is a further tradition that following the expulsion certain members of the Tarquin family moved to Caere, where they had property; an interesting confirmation of this being the discovery in 1875 of a tomb containing the inscription AVLE TARCHNAS LARTHAL CLAN (Aulus Tarquinius, son of Larth). Perhaps, then, my suggestion of a secret interment in less alien ground for the exiled king himself is not totally unreasonable.

  One last word about Vipena's wine scam. The Romans did indeed heat- treat their wines occasionally as I have described – the process is closely akin to the modern one of Madeirisation – to age them artificially, although I doubt if any serious wine-lover such as Corvinus would have approved. However, the ancient world was no different from our own in producing smart entrepreneurs eager to make a fast if questionable buck; and this fact, combined with the snob value of an upmarket label, the low production of the quality vineyards, the rapid expansion of the wine market and the rudimentary state of quality control safeguards, puts the scam, on a commercial scale, well within the bounds of possibility.

  Finally, a little puzzle for Latinist readers. I've included among the characters – unremarked–- two names with historical Tarquin connections. If you spot them, award yourself a celebration glass of wine with my good wishes

  My thanks, yet again, to my wife Rona and the staff of Carnoustie library for finding me books; to Professor Christopher Smith of the University of St Andrews for supplying me with information and guidance on Roman wine production; and most especially to Roy Pinkerton and David W R Ridgway, both of the Department of Classics, University of Edinburgh, for their limitless patience in fielding and answering questions on the historical background to the story. Any factual errors which may have crept in, despite their generous help, remain my own.