David Wishart - White Murder

‘Amphitheatre’ didn’t do it justice: forget the Games, you could’ve held a full-scale battle there and still had room for two or three more besides. We were half way up a cliff that could’ve come straight out of a nightmare: I swear there were clouds below us as well as above and on either side, and they swirled past curtains of sheer black rock stained top to bottom with long rivers of multicoloured lava and patches of dirty snow. Without the sun (and I doubted if this place ever did see the sun) it was bitterly cold, and if stone could rot then the wind that blew directly into my face without pause or variation smelled of the stench it would give off: a dusty, dark, sulphurous stink that caught the back of my nose and throat and almost made me gag. As far as the eye could reach, the valley floor – what you could see of it through the clouds, and Jupiter knew how far down it was – was a smashed chaos of stone and blocks of lava heaved up in waves like a petrified sea, with here and there huge misshapen boulders and columns of rock standing out from its surface like islands. There was no sound, not even the drip or run of water, and no life or movement. The whole place, mile upon mile of it, was dead; worse, it had never been alive.

Hell was right. The hairs on my scalp bristled.

Perilla must’ve felt the same, because she murmured: ‘Avernus. Aornos , the birdless place.’ I glanced back at her and saw her shudder. Yeah; not even vultures could live here. There wouldn’t be nothing for them to live on. ‘Horrible.’

‘It’s the old crater,’ Histrio said. ‘Three miles wide, almost a mile deep.’ He walked to the edge of the platform. ‘Come and see this.’

‘No. No, I think I’ll pass on that, pal,’ I said. ‘Whatever it is.’

‘Come on, Corvinus, don’t be a coward! I told you, it’s perfectly safe. And it’s part of the tour.’

I glanced back at Perilla – she hadn’t come any closer than the top of the brow – and edged forward. I’ve got a better head for heights than most, and it wasn’t just fear of falling; the place itself had me by the scrotum and I could feel my balls shrink. They say everywhere has a numen , a sort of inbuilt personifying spirit. If so, then Ox Valley’s was so alien it wasn’t even close to human.

When we were standing together I stopped.

‘Watch,’ Histrio said. He hefted one of the stones he’d picked up and threw it into space. It curved in an arc and dropped through the swirling clouds. I caught myself trying to follow it with my eye and waiting for the toc! as it hit the valley floor. Nothing. A mile’s a long way down.

Histrio held out a second stone. ‘Your turn,’ he said.

I took it and he moved away. I turned to face the drop – the edge was only a scant yard in front of me – and threw…

‘Marcus!’

Why I did it I don’t know, but when Perilla screamed I dropped to my knees and froze to the rock. Something hit me hard on the back, then it was over me and gone. I heard Histrio yell, just once, but in that yell was all the terror in the world.

Then there was silence; a long, empty silence.

Shit.

I picked myself up, brain numb. Somewhere someone was sobbing. Then Perilla had a hold of me and was pulling me away.

There was no sign of Histrio. But then, the guy would be long gone.

I shook my head to clear it. I was beginning to shake. ‘What the fuck happened?’ I said.

‘He rushed at you.’ Perilla’s face was pressed against my neck. ‘He just rushed at you.’

Sweet gods! I glanced back at the cliff edge. A mile. The guy would still be falling…

‘Marcus, I thought he’d pushed you over!’

Yeah. He would’ve done, too, if it hadn’t been for the lady’s scream. She has a good pair of lungs, Perilla. I closed my eyes. A mile…

I f you go to Sicily, then watch your back .

Why the hell had he done it?

We were lucky that the mules seemed to know their way home. Although the path back was downhill and pretty straightforward, there were a couple of places where it forked and I couldn’t remember which way we’d come. In the end I just left the beasts to it, and once we were down as far as the cultivated area there were plenty of people to ask. Even so, the sun was only just above the bulk of the mountain when we reached Crocinium.

Septimus the wineshop owner was sitting at the table under the trellised vine with his wife and kid, in the middle of their evening meal. He frowned when he saw the two riderless mules.

‘Where’s Histrio?’ he said.

I dismounted, helped Perilla down, and told him while the woman and the kid watched and listened with round eyes.

‘He tried to kill you? Histrio? ’

I remembered Florus’s reaction when I’d told him about Maximus being responsible for the death of his deck-hand Avillius. The two were identical: total disbelief. Maybe coincidence, but interesting all the same.

‘There wasn’t any doubt,’ Perilla said. ‘He got Marcus standing with his back to him on the edge of the drop and then tried to push him over. I saw the whole thing and I wasn’t mistaken. It was quite deliberate.’

‘Not Histrio.’ The guy was shaking his head numbly. ‘He wouldn’t’ve done that. It doesn’t make sense. Histrio wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Look, pal,’ I said; I wasn’t about to waste any tears on that bastard, or shed any crocodile ones either: flies might’ve been safe, but it had been open season on Roman purple-stripers, and if he’d got me then Perilla would’ve been next. ‘We’ve had a trying day. Any chance of a jug of wine and whatever’s left in the pot there?’ I glanced at Perilla. ‘How about you, lady?’

‘Wine would be much appreciated. Under the circumstances.’

Septimus blinked and got up. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll get it now.’ He moved a few steps, then turned. ‘Holy Vulcan, I’ve known the man for years! He’s up here with clients half a dozen times every summer, he’s practically one of the family! What reason could he have had?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. In fact, I was rather hoping that you could tell me.’ I eased myself down onto the bench that the three Tithonuses had been occupying the evening before. ‘Let’s have the wine first, though.’

The woman, after she’d sent the kid to deal with the mules, disappeared inside after her husband with the half-full plates. I was sorry I’d disturbed the family meal, but no doubt they’d have plenty to talk about.

Sure enough, it was a good five minutes before Septimus came back out with the wine and two cups. Maybe he’d had a belt himself in the interim, because he looked a lot more with it, and serious as hell. ‘My wife’s reheating the stew,’ he said. He sat down on the bench opposite. ‘Now. I’m sorry, sir, but you’d better tell me exactly what happened. The village is too small to have a judge’s representative, but presumably you’ll report this to the authorities in Catana and they’ll send someone up to ask questions.’

Shit; I’d forgotten about that aspect of things. Still, it was fair enough. There wasn’t much more I could do other than repeat what I’d already told him, but I did it anyway.

‘There wasn’t any sort of quarrel?’ he said. ‘Disagreement, even?’

‘Uh-uh. He just suddenly went for me. I ducked and he tripped. That was it.’

‘And you hadn’t had any dealings with him before?’

‘No.’ I took a swallow of the wine. ‘I’d never so much as met the guy. I’m in Sicily to look into a murder back in Rome. One of the people who might be involved is a ship’s captain called Maximus.’ Not a flicker. ‘He’s a Catanan himself, or he’s based there at least. Transports racehorses.’