David Wishart - Old Bones

Except that Aternius couldn't know in advance that Navius would be around that morning to be murdered, or that Clusinus would conveniently happen along and find the body. Plus half a dozen other glitches that shoved their way in along the line.

I groaned. Shit. It didn't work.

There was something there, though, I'd swear that on my grandmother's grave. It only needed thinking through a bit more; preferably with the help of a jug or two.

I carried on down the Staircase and headed for home.

Perilla, as usual, was reading: how that lady can waste so much valuable time on the sort of muck these soft-boiled egghead academics spew out beats me completely. I glanced at the title as I leaned over her shoulder and bit her neck: Alcidamas's On Writers and Sophists .

Enough said. She hadn't got that one from Flatworm's library, that was sure. It didn't have any pictures, for a start.

'Well, Marcus, did you have a nice day?' she said calmly. Her eyes hadn't lifted from the page she was reading.

Bathyllus oozed up and handed me my welcome-home belt of Setinian (yeah, Setinian: the little guy had found Flatworm's secret cache) together with the jug. I took a swallow, then another. Nectar.

'Not bad, lady.' I took the jug over to the chair next to the wall – we were on the terrace – and sat down. 'You fancy a trip to Rome?'

She set Alcidamas down on her lap and stared at me. Understandable: Caere might be practically within spitting distance of the Head of the World but after the Sejanus business I'd wiped my sandals of the place and sworn it was for keeps. Even the thought of breathing the same air as the smug broad-striper bastards who ran things there and had twelve-year-old virgins raped just so they could execute them legally for treason turned my stomach. Especially since it had been partly my fault.

'Why?' she said simply.

'There's someone I have to talk to with an antique shop on the Sacred Way. A Publius Herminius Bubo.'

'I thought he lived in Caere. Didn't you go to see him this morning?'

'That was his brother. He's dead.'

'Dead?'

'He had his head smashed in with a mason's hammer two days ago.' I refilled the cup. 'And you haven't answered my question.'

'A mason's hammer?'

Jupiter, was she being dense, or what? I'd've thought she'd've jumped at the chance, and all I got was a set of responses that would've disgraced a parrot.

'Come on, Perilla,' I said. 'Cut it out. Forget murders for a minute. What about Rome?'

She hesitated, still looking at me. 'If you want to, yes. We could stay at your mother's house. And Marilla would love it.'

'Fine. We'll go tomorrow.' I took another swallow of wine. 'Where is the Princess?'

'Out with Corydon. They're almost inseparable these days.' Another pause. 'Marcus, are you absolutely sure about this? I know how -'

'Sure I'm sure. But it's straight in and straight out, right? If that's okay with you. You and the Princess can do a bit of shopping while I'm seeing Bubo Part Two and I'll meet you back at Priscus's.'

She got up, laid Alcidamas on the table, walked over and kissed me. 'Whatever you like,' she said quietly. 'Only don't blame the city for the people who live in it, all right?'

'Yeah,' I said, sinking another quarter pint of Setinian. The evening suddenly seemed a whole lot rosier. 'Thanks for the advice, lady. I'll bear it in mind.'

We set out at first light, in the carriage, Perilla, the Princess and me inside – Corydon was relegated to the stables for the duration, although getting Marilla to agree to leave him had involved a fight that made the Battle of Beneventum look like a honey-wine-and-sponge-cake klatsch – and Bathyllus and Meton perched on the roof behind Lysias's box. I'd wondered a bit about the wisdom of that, but Meton had brought along his recipe books to edit and he was happy as a lark agonising over whether his hare's-meat casserole tasted better with an acetabulum of Massic added to the gravy or a cyathus (don't ask; I don't know what they are, either). How the bugger could work at all stuck on top of a coach on the worst stretch of road this side of the Alps I didn't know, but so long as it kept him from practising his filleting skills on our major-domo it was okay with me. The gods know how Bathyllus amused himself. He probably brought a supply of spoons to polish.

The Princess was still half asleep and Perilla was busy watching the scenery. Me, I've never liked scenery: once you've seen one rustic hillside clad in shady arbutus and redolent with the heady scent of thyme you've seen them all. Besides, this was a business trip. I poured myself a cup of Setinian from the travelling flask and considered the Aternius-Bubo- Clusinus triangle.

It had to work, whatever the flaws, because it was far too good to drop. The only question was how. Okay. So let's see what we'd got. First of all, I was fairly sure about the tomb-robbing. Bubo's business was antiques, the empty strongroom argued storage in bulk, at least in the short term, and barring the proceeds of multiple burglaries which would've been noticed locally Clusinus wasn't in any position otherwise to guarantee that volume of fenceable merchandise. Given that, the involvement of the Cominii also made sense. If Bubo and Co. were robbing tombs on a large scale, which they'd have to be doing to make the business worth the candle, then they'd need the backing of patrons with clout, and there wasn't no one better: the Cominii were already bent as a Suburan dice match and I had old Veluscius's word for it that financially they were up against the wall with nowhere left to go. Also, Bubo's wife was a slip off the old olive tree. So far so good.

Second was the property scam. That I was sure of, too, at least in essence: marrying rich widows, especially when there're no kids to complicate matters, is a favourite way for good-looking entrepreneurs to pad out a shaky bank balance, and again thanks to Veluscius and my wineshop pal Perennius I knew Aternius and his uncle already had a land scheme up and running. And to provide factual backup I had the business of Clusinus's loan to offer and – maybe – Aternius's interest in burying Papatius.

The problem was the murders. Clusinus's and Bubo's, no hassle: if I was right about the blackmail then Clusinus was two ways dead; once to shut his mouth, once to make sure his widow defaulted on the debt. And if Clusinus went, then Bubo would have to follow because the guy knew too much to live. Navius's murder was another matter. The Cominii had a motive in spades, sure, but no opportunity. And as for Hilarion the gods alone knew what foot that poor bastard had put out of line.

I took a brain-lubricating swallow of Setinian. Okay. So let's re- examine the Navius business, taking as our basic premise that the Cominii are guilty as hell.

The tomb-robbing scam's under negotiation, and Clusinus is pressing for the best deal he can get. He tries Bubo first, but Bubo sends him off with a flea in his ear: he's pulling his full weight already and he has his brother in Rome to square. So Clusinus goes to Aternius, or maybe to his uncle, it doesn't matter which because the two are an item. He doesn't use the word 'blackmail', because he's not that stupid; he just suggests that the Cominii might want to sub him out of their cut because after all he's the guy bringing home the actual bacon. Aternius, however, is no fool either. Maybe he and his uncle are having second thoughts about the whole business, and Clusinus trying to chisel them is the final straw; or maybe they've worked out the possibilities of a double-cross already, in which case he's playing right into their hands…

I paused.

Playing…

Oh, Jupiter!

I'd been lifting the cup for another mouthful: carefully, because although Lysias was a good driver and was missing as many potholes as he could we were still being bounced around like a pig in a blanket. Now I lowered it again, and my scalp began to tingle as the implications of that idea registered.