David Wishart - Old Bones

She nodded. 'I'm sorry. I'd help you more if I could.'

Well, I'd got something, at least, although where it'd got me I hadn't the faintest idea. I turned to Thupeltha.

'How about you, sister?' I said. 'You have anything to throw into the pot?'

She laughed. 'Titus and I had better things to do with our time together than talk about business. No, I can't help you at all.'

'Yeah, I just thought you might say that, lady.' I caught the barest flash of…annoyance? amusement? assessment? I wasn't quite sure, but it was something. I stood up. 'Thanks, Vesia. I'll keep in touch.'

Aulus. Now who the hell was Aulus?

The sun was past its highest when I left Vesia's and my stomach was rumbling. Time for home and the feed bag.

That had been a real eye-opener, where Thupeltha was concerned especially. There was cold blood there, a calculating egotism with a touch of malice that was right at odds with her claims to directness. That first time I'd talked to her I'd believed she'd been telling the truth, as she saw it at least, but now I wouldn't lay any bets. The lady knew more than she was saying, that was obvious; but I had the distinct impression that she knew I knew she knew she was hiding something and it made her enjoy watching me flounder all the more. If you get what I mean. And I'd wager a dozen of Caecuban to a mouldy rissole that she got a charge out of watching people flounder, especially if she had the lifebelt. She mightn't be averse to kicking the feet out from under them in the first place, either.

Not a very nice person, Thupeltha.

Vesia was another problem. Call me jaundiced if you like, but I was beginning to feel that maybe she was just a little too squeaky-clean-perfect to be true. Oh, she wasn't putting up as big a false front as Thupeltha, but there was a touch of steel there under all that powder-blue softness that I hadn't expected. Maybe I should've done: the woman couldn't've had it easy bringing up two kids and trying to stay respectable married to Titus Clusinus, and the quiet mousey types are often tougher than the brash in-your-face Amazons. Still, I had the impression that it was a side of her nature that Vesia didn't want to show. And that was interesting.

Bring the two together, and put both women in the same kitchen, and bad vibes or not you got something that was even more interesting still. I thought about that aspect, and the implications, all the way home.

Bathyllus was waiting with the wine jug, which was great because it had turned out to be a scorcher of a day and by the time I reached the villa my tongue was trailing the road. The first cup didn't even touch the sides; the second I took more slowly.

'Where's the mistress, little guy?' I said as I held the cup out for a refill.

'The bath suite, sir. She and Marilla went out riding this morning.'

'Is that so?' I felt a small stab of guilt. Perilla had been right: this was supposed to be a holiday, and I'd hardly seen anything of her. Let alone the Princess, and she'd be going back to Aunt Marcia's when we headed home to Athens. 'Look me out a fresh tunic, will you, Bathyllus?' I said. 'And ask Meton to hold the chickpea rissoles for an hour.'

That's one thing about lunch: it's usually cold leftovers anyway, and not even the world's most single-minded chef could object to a postponement. Also, I noticed Bathyllus's nostrils had twitched as he poured the wine, and although the little guy was far too polite to pass a remark on the strength of the master's body odour a bath before eating would be a kindness to the world in general. After traipsing over half Vetuliscum on a roaster of a morning I would've given a goat a headache.

I swallowed down the rest of the wine and made for the bath.

One thing you could say for Flatworm: where life's little luxuries were concerned he didn't stint himself. Out in the sticks or not, the villa's baths were better than mine. You could've put a couple of dozen people into the hot room if they didn't mind squeezing up, and knowing Flatworm his regular guests wouldn't. The mosaics and wall paintings were something, too; in fact, the fresco by the cold plunge was so much something that Perilla'd told Bathyllus to cover it over with a sheet. Well, the artist hadn't got the perspective right anyway. Either that or his knowledge of anatomy was seriously flawed.

I stripped off in the changing cubicle, wound the towel round my middle for modesty – Bathyllus hadn't said as much, but I assumed Marilla would be bathing as well – and headed for the hot room. Sure enough they were both there, the colour of cooked Baian crayfish. I gave Perilla the requisite nice-to-see-you-again smacker and ruffled the Princess's hair: she doesn't like it done up, and anyway no hairstyle ever invented can stand up to an hour in a bath-house.

'Well, Marcus, did you have a successful morning?' Perilla said.

'Yeah.' I sat down beside her. 'How about you? Bathyllus tells me you went out riding.'

'We saw a fox,' Marilla said. 'A vixen, really. She had cubs.'

'Yeah?' The kid's mad on animals, as I think I said. 'Whereabouts?'

'Oh, just around. Up in the hills. I don't know the area well enough to be more precise.'

'I hope you didn't tell any of the locals, then. Vixens and chickens don't mix except on the most basic level.'

'We're going into Pyrgi tomorrow. Bathyllus says he knows someone there with a tame bear. Are you coming?'

I hesitated. 'Maybe,' I said. 'We'll see. I'm kind of tied up at the moment.'

'Oh.' She looked down. 'Yes. Well.' There was a pause. Then she got up. 'I'll see you later, Corvinus. I have to go and brush Corydon. He walked through a thistle patch and he's still wearing half the result.'

When she'd gone Perilla and I sat for a while in awkward silence.

'I've got to solve this thing quickly, lady,' I said finally, not looking at her. 'The praetor's rep'll be here in nine days' time, and after that Papatius is crows'-meat.'

She sighed and put her head on my shoulder. 'Yes,' she said. 'I know. Don't let it worry you. Marilla understands.'

I kissed her. She tasted salty. 'The little guy's setting up his network already, then?' I said.

'It was Alexis, really. One of the farmers down the Caere road happened to mention the bear to him when he went to ask about Corydon.'

'Uh-huh.'

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said:

'Marcus, can't we move back to Rome? Sejanus is dead, you don't have to have anything to do with any senators if you don't want to, and you know you miss it. The Alban Hills aren't far away. Marilla could stay with Aunt Marcia and we'd still see her regularly. Much more regularly than we do now living in Athens.'

'I'll think about it.'

But not now. I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting the heat leach away the tiredness. Jupiter, that was good! If we Romans had given nothing else to the world that didn't have its down side at least we'd got bathing to a fine art.

'So.' Perilla had lifted her head, and the usual cool, businesslike tone was back in her voice. 'How are things going, in fact?'

I told her about the visits to Mamilius's and Vipena's. That last was the tricky one: Perilla's never liked the idea that one day I might stick my neck out a bit too far and be carted home on a board. Sure enough, I got the usual lecture about keeping out of trouble. This time I took it like a lamb, which was fair because I agreed with every word: the obvious guys, or the guys who bluster, you can take in your stride, but hard professionals like Tolumnius and Baro are another matter. These bastards don't threaten, they promise.

Then we got round to Vesia and Thupeltha. When I mentioned I'd found them together Perilla's eyebrows rose.

'Hardly orthodox behaviour, is it?' she said. 'On either side. If you'd just been murdered, dear, I wouldn't expect your mistress to drop round for a meal and a chat the day after your funeral, however pushy she was. And I certainly wouldn't open the door for her if she did.'