David Wishart - Old Bones

Laughing partly at other folks' expense, and at the expense of Caeretan's reputation. That was the rub. I didn't underestimate what Arruns had told me: we were dealing with livelihoods here, not just of individuals but of families, and in the country continuity, stability and the future welfare of the family is vital. The question was, had the severity of the threat been a good enough reason to kill the guy? Because if it had then things looked even blacker for Papatius.

The track branched to the right, and I could see a farmhouse further down the slope. That would be the Navius place. Well, it had to be done sooner or later, and at least with Priscus off the hook the dead boy's mother might be more ready to talk to me. What had Mamilius said her name was? It began with an 'S': Sulpicia, Sedilia…

I couldn't remember. I'd just have to play it by ear.

I took the right fork and came down the hill through the vine terraces. The villa was easily as big as Nepos's and it looked prosperous, with half a dozen slaves in the yard and a busy feel to it. I went up to the nearest guy – he was plaiting a wicker grape basket – and introduced myself.

'The mistress at home?' I said.

'Yes, sir. She's in the garden. If you'd like to follow me?' The guy was pretty cool, but polite enough: maybe the news that Meataxe Priscus hadn't zeroed the young master after all had got here ahead of me. I hoped so. There ain't nothing more embarrassing than paying a social call on the mother of someone your relative's been accused of putting underground before his time.

'Thanks, pal.' I fell in beside him. 'You mind telling me the lady's name, by the way?'

The slave gave me a funny look; well, I suppose to his ears it was a fairly half-assed question.

'Sicinia,' he said. 'Sicinia Rufina.'

Yeah. That had been it. Two names, too: we were dealing with quality here. I wished I had a clothes brush to brush some of Arruns's ditch off my tunic.

The basket-plaiter led me through a gate in a neatly-clipped hedge and into a rose garden. Prosperous was right: it was laid out with gravel paths, and besides the roses there were fig and plum trees and beds of ornamental herbs. There was even a marble fountain decorated with passable cupids sitting on dolphins.

The lady was ensconced in a natty little gazebo overlooking the garden. I saw her stiffen when she saw me coming, but she was polite enough when I told her my name. She must've been in her late forties, but she'd been a looker once and her sky-blue mantle wasn't Caere make.

'Won't you sit down, Valerius Corvinus?' she said. 'Lucius. Tell Crito to bring us some wine. And grape juice for me.'

The slave left. I pulled up the gazebo's other chair.

'Well.' She leaned back. 'And what can I do for you?'

I cleared my throat. 'First my condolences. I'm sorry about your son.'

'Yes. Attus was a good boy.' She stared past me at the roses. 'A very good boy. I'll miss him very much. You'll no doubt be relieved, however, that your stepfather is no longer under suspicion of his murder?'

'Uh, yeah.' I felt uncomfortable. Well, at least that was out of the way. 'You know Larth Papatius has been arrested?'

'So Gaius Aternius informed me.' Her lips tightened.

'He stopped by this morning?'

'Oh, yes. His family and ours are old friends; very old friends indeed. Aternius's uncle went to school with my late husband.'

'That'd be Quintus Cominius, the Caeretan mayor?' She nodded. So. That explained the high-level proprietorial interest in the case. I was surprised, though, that Smooth-Chops hadn't mentioned it.

'I'm only sorry that something can't be done about that wife of his.' Sicinia's voice took on a distinct edge. 'That's where the real responsibility lies.'

It took me a moment to realise she was talking about Thupeltha. 'You think so?' I said cautiously.

'Corvinus, I hope I am a charitable person, but I'm afraid I can't help hating that woman. Having got her hooks into poor Attus she had him besotted with her, and then she dropped him like a used rag. If anyone is responsible for my son's death it's she. I could even, if I'm to be completely honest with you, have a small spark of sympathy for her husband.'

'You think she led your son on?'

'My son was barely twenty-one years old. She is almost twice that. He had very little experience of the world, she had a great deal. What is your opinion?'

My opinion was that the lady was suffering from a bad case of astigmatism, but I wasn't going to say so. And for all I knew she could be right. I'd only Thupeltha's word for things, after all. I moved onto more delicate ground. 'Could she have had a motive for seducing your son do you think, Sicinia Rufina? Apart from sex, that is?'

Sicinia closed her eyes briefly: I had the idea that the word 'sex' wasn't used all that much in the Navius household. 'Attus was quite a wealthy young man,' she said, 'well-connected, especially on my side, and with good prospects. I hesitate to say she initiated the affair for purely mercenary reasons, especially given the outcome, but I would not discount them altogether. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that had been tried.'

The house slave appeared with the wine tray. I noticed that the jug and the cups were good quality silver, and Sicinia's grape juice came in a Syrian glass beaker. We were moving in high circles here, no provincial tat: the lady had taste, and evidently the money to indulge it. I hadn't missed that 'especially on my side', either.

The guy poured and left, and I took a swig…

The wine burst into song on my tongue. Jupiter! This was no home-made Caeretan. Obviously whatever Navius's opinions were on growing cheapo grapes they didn't affect what he kept in his own cellar.

Sicinia had been watching me, a slight smile on her lips.

'You like the wine?' she said.

'Yeah.' I took another mouthful. Liquid velvet! 'Falernian, right? And top-of-the-range stuff.'

'Indeed. Thirty years old, or so I'm told, although I take very little interest in wine myself, at any level. My cousin sends it.'

'Your cousin knows his wines.'

The smile broadened. 'He should. Unlike my late husband, you see, I'm not from this region; my family come from Campania, Pompeii originally, and we've been in the wine business for years, on the trading rather than the production side. My cousin is the present head of the firm. He specialises in the quality varieties, especially Falernian and Faustinian. This is one of his best.' She indicated the jug. 'Do help yourself, please.'

I didn't wait to be asked twice. 'You said it wasn't the first time a woman had got involved with your son?' I prompted gently as I topped up my cup.

'That is so.' Sicinia sipped her grape juice. 'One of our neighbours – an ex-centurion – had a granddaughter.' Her voice was genteely disapproving. 'A pleasant enough girl, but half foreign, very obviously so. You know the type: large, busty, blonde haired, blue eyed, quite impossible. He – the grandfather – was under the impression that the girl had some sort of a claim on Attus; ridiculous, of course, the boy was hardly more than a child. And there would have been almost no dowry to speak of. Gaius – my late husband, he was alive then – sent him off with a flea in his ear.'

The hairs lifted just a little on my neck.

'Just a question, Sicinia Rufina,' I said, 'and forgive me for asking it; but how did your husband die?'

There was a pause. 'He was out riding,' she said finally. 'He fell from his horse, hit his head and never regained consciousness. That was almost exactly a year ago.'

The prickling grew stronger. Shit; and I'd somehow got the impression from the sisters that the guy had died of a fever or something similar. A head injury, eh? That was interesting. Might be interesting.