David Wishart - Old Bones

'I can guess. Between his ribs, yes?'

Well, the lady was cool enough. 'You any idea who put it there?'

'Of course.'

I blinked. That had come out so flat I thought I'd misheard somehow, or she'd misunderstood the question.

'Uh…hold on, Thupeltha,' I said. 'Are you telling me you actually saw the murder?'

'No. I said I knew who was responsible for Attus's death. There's a difference.'

'Okay. So who?'

'Attus himself.'

I sat back. 'You're claiming it was suicide?'

'No.'

'Jupiter, lady! Then what..?'

Her thick lips twisted in a grin. 'I'm not claiming it was suicide. I'm telling you it was.'

This was something I hadn't expected. 'Hang on,’ I said. ‘If you didn't see Navius die then how the hell do you know he killed himself?'

She shrugged; if I hadn't known the pair had been lovers I'd've thought she couldn't care less. She pulled the turnips towards her, picked up a small vegetable knife from the table and began to top and tail them.

'Thupeltha?' I said when it didn't look like I was going to get any more of an answer. 'What makes you so sure Navius committed suicide?'

The blade – it was paper-thin, and honed so sharp I could've shaved with it – slipped through the turnip's flesh like a sigh.

'Because when he left me he said that was what he was going to do.'

'You want to tell me about it from the beginning?' I said quietly.

Another shrug; I had the idea that whatever I suggested would be received with the same total lack of interest. She pulled up a stool and sat down. The stool creaked beneath her weight.

'The cats are quite right,' she said. 'The affair started eighteen months ago, at the Spring Festival.'

'Who started it?'

She smiled, suddenly and unexpectedly. Helen might've smiled like that when Paris suggested a trip to Troy. She'd've been a few stones lighter, mind, but the effect would've been the same. I felt my hair crinkle. 'He did,' she said. 'Let's get that clear from the start. I'm no cradle-snatcher.'

I nodded. Yeah, that made sense. It fitted in with the picture I was building up of Attus Navius, too: 'He made the running all the way, right?'

'Not all the way. He was a nice enough boy, good-looking, very polite. To me, at least. And he was good in bed, too, when we got that far. Which was about three days in.'

'Uh-huh.' I sipped my wine and tried to match her matter-of-fact tone. 'Did your husband know what was going on?'

'Naturally. I told him myself. I always do.'

Gods! 'And he didn't mind?'

She sighed. 'Corvinus, understand this. All Larth is interested in are his vines. Or my vines, if we want to be accurate. We don't sleep together. I won't say we never have, but it hasn't happened all that often because Larth just isn't that way inclined. Or any other way for that matter, if that's what you're thinking.'

'You have an arrangement.'

'We have an arrangement. I'm up front with him, I never take more than one lover at a time and in every other way I'm a good wife. In return he leaves me alone and spends his time making the best wine in the district from my grapes.'

'Sounds like a fair bargain to me.'

'Don't sneer. It suits both of us and we're happy enough. Larth's only interfered once, and he was quite right to do so.'

'The butcher from Caere?'

'Juno, you have been busy! The cats again, was it?' I didn't answer. 'That's right. The man's name was Marcus Poetelius, not that it matters. He couldn't keep his mouth shut.'

'So your husband shut it for him?'

She ignored me. 'That's my first condition, and his. The second is that there's no long-term commitment either side. Poetelius broke the rules.'

'What about gossip?'

'There's always gossip, however careful you are. I don't mind it, within reason, and nor does Larth. If it gives sad old women like the cats any fun then they're welcome. Men are a different thing. If Larth heard a man say one word against me, or even heard of it, he'd kill him. Everyone around here knows that, and the threat's enough.'

'Only with this guy Poetelius it wasn't.'

'No.' That was all, but the implication was clear. Jupiter, this was weird.

'So Navius broke the rules as well,' I said quietly.

'Attus was no braggart. Not by nature, at least.'

'The second of the conditions, then. He wanted a long-term commitment.'

She nodded. 'You're clever, Corvinus,' she said. 'Very clever. Yes. He wanted me to divorce Papatius and marry him.'

'And when you refused he threatened to kill himself.'

'He did more than threaten. I told you.'

'Yeah.' I took a sip of wine. It tasted sour. 'One question. Where did this happen?'

Her eyes shifted. 'A few hundred yards down from where he was found. There's a grove of holm-oaks just -'

'Yeah. I know where you are. You met there often?'

For the first time she looked uncomfortable. 'No.'

'So why this time?' No answer. 'Was it your choice or his?'

'It was mine.'

There was something wrong here. Thupeltha might not be lying but she wasn't telling the whole truth, either. I was being deliberately shut out of a whole chunk of the story, and whatever that was it was crucial.

A different venue, not Navius's choice, on someone else's land…

…and then I had it. Shit! I'd been a fool!

'You hadn't gone there to meet Navius at all,' I said. 'You'd gone to see Clusinus.'

There was a long silence. Finally, Thupeltha got up, walked towards the door and leaned against the jamb with her back to me.

'Clever's right,' she said.

'One lover at a time. You'd already given Navius the brush-off and Clusinus was the guy's replacement. Navius knew, and he didn't like it. He followed you and tried to persuade you to change your mind.'

She still hadn't turned. 'He'd been working in the corner of his property beside the road,' she said. Her voice was flat, expressionless. 'He saw me leave. I didn't see him until I was at the grove.'

'Was Clusinus there already?'

'No. I was early. I turned round and there he was.'

'And then you had your argument and the kid threatened to kill himself.' She nodded. 'He make any other threats?'

She went very still. 'Such as what?'

'To make a meal of the situation in public. To blow the whistle on you and Clusinus.'

She whipped round, glaring. 'Why should he do that?'

'Jealousy's a good enough reason, lady.' I held her eyes. 'And I get the impression it's the sort of thing he might do.'

'He might. Or might've done, rather. But in the event he didn't, did he?'

That came out cold as a Riphaean winter. Gods, the poor bastard!

'Okay,' I said. 'What happened next?'

'When he saw I wasn't going to change my mind he left me and ran off. That was the last I saw of him.'

'Uh-huh. And what -?'

She put a finger to her lips and glanced quickly over her shoulder. A man came in, pushing past her like she was just an obstacle in the way; the bald-headed guy I'd seen fixing the vine. He was carrying a truss of early grapes. He set them on the table, nodded to me but ignored Thupeltha, then fetched a cup from the dresser and poured wine into it direct from the flask. I noticed he lifted it easily with one hand.

Thupeltha had picked up her knife again and was back to slicing turnips.

'Nice day,' I said.

Papatius grunted, sat down and drank. Obviously a born communicator like his wife.

'The name's Valerius Corvinus.' I waited. Nothing. 'Helvius Priscus's stepson.'

'Is that so?' The tone showed he'd have been just about as interested if I'd said my name was Tiberius Caesar.

'I've been asking your wife some questions about Attus Navius.' Thupeltha's eyes flicked up, then down again. She went over to the unlit stove and began laying it with sticks and charcoal. 'She's been very helpful.'