David Wishart - Old Bones

'I'm not buying.' I pulled out a silver piece. 'I just want some information.'

'No problem.' His eyes went to the coin. 'Ask away.'

'You sell a mule ten days back? Idiosyncratic bugger with a white flash on the left fore?'

The grin slipped. 'I might have done,' he said. 'It depends. Some trouble? We're always willing to take an animal back, with a small reduction for wear and tear, naturally, but you have to take into account that -'

'No trouble, pal. None at all. You happen to remember the customer's name?'

'Not the name. The customer, sure. Old man from Vetuliscum. He came in early. His mule'd just died and he wanted a replacement.'

Bull’s-eye! 'Could you describe him, maybe?'

He could. Five minutes later I was out and heading for home, a silver piece down and up one murderer. I didn't like it, but there you were; you can't pick and choose.

The guy I wanted, of course, was Larcius Arruns.

The only question left was why?

Oh, sure, part of it was okay: the tomb was on what had been Arruns's land before Navius's grandfather had diddled the family out of it. And Arruns himself had told me, the day I'd given him a lift part-way into Caere, that he wouldn't kill just for a patch of vineyard. That much, at least, had been true; it'd been, in a way, a kind of confession, or a justification, rather, because – again, like he'd said – Arruns was no killer, not by nature. I'd stake my sandals on the truth of that. The land itself didn't matter. What mattered was that Navius – and later Clusinus – had found the tomb; and that Arruns couldn't ignore.

Still, the fact remained that he'd killed four people. Not being a natural killer made that even stranger: tomb-robbing's a crime, and a word to the authorities would've had the same effect and caused a lot less grief. So why had he done it? Not because he wanted to loot the tomb himself; if he'd known it was there – and he must've done, for all this to make sense – he could've done that any time this past fifty years. And a five hundred year old tomb don't carry no loyalties.

I spent the walk back thinking about how to play this. Arruns had to be nailed, sure, if only for Papatius's sake, but I'd liked the thrawn old bugger and I wasn't looking forward to pointing the finger. When I turned up Flatworm's drive I still hadn't decided. And I felt sick as a dog.

Perilla was on the terrace with (surprise!) a book open on her lap. She kissed me.

'I didn't expect you for hours,' she said. 'Marilla said you'd gone into Caere.'

'Yeah.' I slumped down into my usual chair.

Perilla paused. 'She also said that you were acting rather strangely. Or at least more strangely than you usually do. The case isn't going well, is it?'

'The case is solved.' She shot me a startled look but I ignored it. 'Finished, over and done with. All I've got to do now is shop the murderer. What's the book?'

'Another copy of Aulus Caecina's Etruscan History . I bought it in Rome to replace the one Corydon ate. Marcus, are you sure you aren't ill? If the case is solved – really solved – then who -?'

I put a finger to her lips. 'Don't ask me. Please. Not just yet, okay? I'll tell you later.'

Bathyllus soft-shoed over with the tray. I let the little guy pour me a belt of Caeretan – we'd finished the Setinian -, downed it in one and held the cup out for more.

'I did come across a very interesting passage,' Perilla said brightly; gods, I hate it when the lady tries to cheer me up. 'I thought perhaps it might be relevant.'

'Yeah?'

'It's about hurdles.'

I was just about to ask what the fuck hurdles had to do with anything when I remembered Clusinus's death. We still had the problem of the hurdle. If Aternius had been the killer then sure, it made sense because of the time element. With Arruns firmly in the title role that explanation didn't fit any more.

'Go on,' I said.

'It seems that when Tarquin the Proud called his Latin allies to a conference at the Grove of Ferentina -' Perilla stopped. 'Marcus, are you positive you're all right?'

I'd sat up. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, I'm fine. The Grove of Ferentina, you say.'

'Seemingly there was a bit of trouble. A man called Turnus Herdonius tried to stir up a revolt. The king viewed it as treason and had him executed using a method invented by himself.'

'He was drowned beneath a weighted hurdle, right?' I said.

'Oh. You've read it already.'

'No, just an educated guess.' I took a swallow of wine. So. That was that one explained, along with a lot of other things. 'So Tarquin invented the hurdle business himself? A sort of private family punishment for treason.'

'Caecina doesn't exactly say so, but yes, I suppose it might be seen that way.'

That put the seal on the business. Well, it had to be done eventually, and the longer I put it off the worse it would be. Bathyllus was still hanging around on the fringes. I beckoned him over.

'Go and find Alexis, little guy,' I said. 'I want a message taking over to Larcius Arruns.' Perilla looked at me wide-eyed, but she didn't speak. 'Tell Alexis to ask him to meet me in the vineyard at the top end of his property in an hour's time. He'll know the one I mean.' Bathyllus turned to go. I caught his arm. 'No. Wait a minute. Scratch that. Ask him to meet me beside his family tomb.'

I knew the whole of the why now. Maybe I should've written the request out formally. After all, how often do you send messages to a king in exile?

The sky above the hills to the east was looking black as a Nubian's armpit when I climbed the last stretch of path between the terraces. Arruns was already there, standing next to the wide catchment trench that led to the vertical shaft of Attus Navius's half-completed storm drain. I'd tucked my knife into its wrist sheath, but I didn't think I'd need it: the time for killing was past, on either side.

'So, Corvinus,' he said when we were close enough to talk. 'You know.'

'Would you rather I didn't?'

It should've been a stupid question, but even as I asked it I knew it wasn't. He shook his head.

'No. I wouldn't have let Papatius die in any case. And it doesn't matter now anyway. The tomb's safe. There's no one left alive outside the family who knows it's here.' His eyes flickered. 'Except you.'

Uh-oh. Maybe I'd been wrong about the killing being over. Slowly, so he didn't think I was reaching for a weapon, I undid the fastenings of the small bag I'd brought with me and took out the contents.

'I won't tell,' I said. 'You have my word. And I think these belong to you.'

He looked down at the things, then back to me: a long, slow, appraising stare. Then he grunted and held out his hands. I put the cup and the Owl's bracelet into them. The atmosphere suddenly felt a lot lighter.

'All right,' he said. 'I might just believe you. You want to see it before we go and finish this?'

I didn't have to ask what he meant by 'it'. The hairs lifted on my neck.

'Maybe,' I said. 'In a minute. Let me just check the facts first. For my own satisfaction.'

'If you like.'

'Navius found the tomb when he was digging his new storm drain shafts to carry water from the mountain under the terracing.'

'No. He never knew it was there.' Arruns nodded towards the shaft. 'That stops three feet short of the roof. I was lucky; he had an accident and broke his arm. Trouble was, it was only a matter of time before he started digging again, and I'd no way of stopping him.' His lips twisted. 'Bar the one, of course. There I only had to wait for an opportunity.' Yeah; I remembered now: Sicinia had said that her son had broken his arm in a fall from a ladder and been laid up for a month. Well, it'd given him that much longer, I supposed. 'I was sorry about Navius, even if I didn't like his family. He'd the makings of a good farmer. The real bastard was Titus Clusinus.'