David Wishart - Old Bones

'You did what? ' I said.

'Pulled it out. I thought perhaps…'

Holy gods alive! 'You stupid old bugger!'

'Marcus!' That was Mother.

'At which point,' Nepos went on in his toneless voice, 'Clusinus comes walzing down the hill, jumps to the obvious conclusion and makes a citizen's arrest.' His eyes closed as if in pain. 'Finish, end of story.'

I really didn't believe this. Or – scratch that – I wouldn't've believed it if the fall guy had been anyone else but Priscus. Even so it took a lot of swallowing.

'What the hell were you doing up there in the first place, Stepfather?' I said. 'I thought you were going tomb-bashing in Caere this morning.'

'He was.' Nepos's eyes were still closed.

'Then why -?'

'Don't ask, Corvinus.' Nepos again. 'Just…don't…bloody… ask! '

Priscus had the grace to look embarrassed. 'I, ah, seem to have taken the wrong turning,' he said.

I stared at him. 'Priscus, that is a sodding cart-track, right? It leads nowhere, and it does it in totally the wrong direction. Last but not least, you must've been back and forwards to Caere by the road a hundred times. So don't tell me -'

'I was thinking,' Priscus said with great dignity, 'of other things.'

The gods save us! 'It's a pity you weren't thinking of other things when you pulled the fucking knife out and waved it over the fucking corpse!'

Nepos made a choking sound, and Mother gave him her best glare. Then she turned back to me.

'Marcus, dear,' she said coolly. 'I appreciate you're upset over this, as we all are, but that is no excuse for bad language. Titus is simply an unfortunate victim of circumstances.'

I sighed: that wasn't exactly the phrase I'd've used. ‘Complete bloody prat’ came closer, but calling a spade a spade wouldn't help things any. The thing was done, and there was an end to it.

'Okay,' I said. 'So what happens now?'

Nepos had opened his eyes again; I expected he might have agreed with me on terminology, but arguing with Mother is like mud-wrestling eels. 'Titus has been released into my custody, naturally,' he said, 'but a report has gone to Quintus Cominius, the Caeretan mayor. No doubt Navius's mother Sicinia Rufina will be pressing charges shortly.'

'The guy wasn't married?'

'He was only in his early twenties. He came into the property when his father died last year.'

I sat back. This was a real bummer. Sure, being a Roman knight there was no way that Priscus would be hauled off to the local slammer, but even so it looked pretty bleak for the poor sap. If he were convicted – and being caught red-handed made that likely – a hefty fine was the best he could expect, with exile a fair possibility. Something had to be done, and fast.

'This Navius,' I said. 'Did he have any enemies?'

'No.' Nepos hesitated. 'None that I'm aware of.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Just what it says. He was a nice enough lad, a bit of a spoiled pup the way they all are at that age. He'd a taste for wine and an eye for the girls, but there was no real harm in him.' Yeah. That sounded familiar. I was glad Perilla wasn't here to see my blushes. 'And he'd the makings of a farmer, even if he did raise a few temperatures in the neighbourhood.'

'Yeah?' I pricked up my ears. 'What kind of temperatures?'

Nepos chuckled. 'Farmers – and I'd include myself, for my sins – have pretty fixed views on things. We don't like them questioned, certainly not by youngsters. I'm talking farming methods, you understand. Young Attus Navius had some ideas that weren't too popular locally, and being the lad he was he didn't mind spouting them in public. Oh, he got up quite a few noses. But not far enough to get himself killed, nowhere near it.'

'Uh-huh.' Yeah, well, that sounded familiar too. Farmers are like everyone else: they don't like smartass kids still wet behind the ears telling them where they've been going wrong for the past fifty years, and the kids – being kids – will naturally slug on regardless. Still, I shelved that little nugget for future reference. 'So how about this Clusinus?'

'Ah.' Nepos had pulled up a chair himself by now. He leaned back frowning. 'I thought you might be interested in him.'

'You bet I'm interested. The corpse was on his land and he turned up from nowhere just at the perfect time. And if Meataxe here didn't kill the guy he makes as good a starting point as any.'

'Mmmaaa!' Priscus waved a protesting claw. 'My boy, I really wish you wouldn't be so facetious.'

'I think we should let Marcus handle this, dear.' That was Mother, of course. She was looking brighter, and I had the distinct impression she was beginning to enjoy herself. 'Tiresome or not, he does know what he's doing in situations like these. It comes from having a warped brain.'

Ouch.

Nepos had steepled his fingers. He was still frowning. 'Clusinus is a bit of a queer fish,' he said. 'He's no farmer, to begin with, or not a proper one as people round here would understand the term. Oh, his land isn't all that good, of course – a lot of it's no better than broken country and scrub – but he could do a lot more with it than he does. A hell of a lot more, in fact. Which doesn't exactly endear him locally. To make matters worse he keeps goats, and you know what arable farmers and vine-growers think of them .' Yeah, I did, even a city boy like me: goats'll eat anything they can get their teeth into. They're no respecters of boundary lines, either. If Clusinus wasn't overcareful about little details like hurdles – and I had the impression, somehow, that he wouldn't be – then his caprine pals could make him very unpopular indeed. 'Not to put too fine a point on it, the fellow's a complete wastrel. He spends more time hunting than looking after his farm. Which was what he had been doing, in fact, when he came upon Titus and the body.'

'You happen to know if he'd caught anything?'

Nepos gave me a sharp look: like I say, the guy was no fool. 'Now that is a thought,' he said slowly. 'No, I don't. But he was certainly empty-handed when he brought Titus in.'

I turned to the Mad Axeman himself. 'Priscus?'

'Mmmaaa?'

'Was Clusinus carrying anything in the way of game, did you notice?' Not a flicker. The guy might be able to tell a labial fricative from a plosive but I'd met with smarter frying pans. I tried again. 'A hare or two, maybe? Dragging a boar behind him with a spear in its gullet, perhaps?'

'Come on, Titus, dear,' Mother prompted. 'You can remember.'

Priscus's brow furrowed, then cleared. ‘Yes, Marcus, he was indeed. A brace of bustard; tetrax , if I recall correctly, not the heavier tarda variety, although I do believe one can find otis tarda occasionally in-'

'Yeah. Yeah, fine.' Bugger; there went that idea. Well, at least he'd noticed; I wouldn't even have laid bets on the boar. 'One more thing, Nepos. What about the murder weapon?'

'I have it here.' Nepos got up and went over to a storage chest in the corner of the room. He came back with a bone-hilted knife with a blade six or seven inches long. 'Clusinus wanted to keep it, but I told the fellow I'd give it to Cominius myself.'

It wasn't anything special, the sort of thing you could pick up anywhere for a few copper coins. Nothing any self-respecting Roman knight would look at twice. I hoped Cominius would spot that, too.

'You mind if I hang on to it for a while?' I said.

'Not as long as you're careful with it.'

'Priscus?'

'Carry on, my boy.'

'Right.' I stood up and tucked it into the belt of my tunic. 'If you'll excuse me I'll go and have a look at the scene of the crime.'

'You're not eating with us, Marcus?' Mother said. 'I'm sure Nepos would send the coach for Perilla and your daughter. And Phormio's promised us some marrowbone and emmer broth. So strengthening.'