David Wishart - Old Bones

'Okay. Let's leave Clusinus for a moment,' I said. 'Next bit. The morning Navius died you'd been in Caere buying a mule. On your way back just shy of Vetuliscum you saw him turning up Clusinus's track after Thupeltha.'

'I didn't see the woman. Not at first, anyway. I thought Navius was alone. An opportunity, like I said.'

'Yeah.' Jupiter, the guy was calm enough! It was like we were discussing the price of pigs. 'So. You left the mule tied up in the bushes out of sight of the road and followed him from above along the high ground. You waited until he'd left Thupeltha, then went after him and killed him. After that you went back to where you'd left the mule and saw it was gone.'

Arruns grinned. 'Bastard must've slipped his tether,' he said. 'I couldn't understand that. I still can't because I put a knot in the nose-rope. I assumed some bugger'd stolen him until your slave came round the next day asking questions about a stray.'

'Yeah. So you carried on into Vetuliscum on foot. You weren't too worried about the missing mule giving you away because even if he did turn up no one locally'd know he was yours.' I paused. 'Only someone did; a guy called Hilarion who was staying with Licinius Nepos and who'd seen you that morning in Caere. Right?'

'Right. I was lucky. Your lad came to me before he went to Nepos's place. Hilarion mightn't've made the connection but he was a friend of your family's and I couldn't take the risk. He had to die. I'm sorry about him as well.'

'Uh-huh.' His matter-of-fact tone was chilling. I kept my voice level. 'Okay. Now we come to Clusinus. He was the one actually found the tomb. Was that an accident too?'

He shrugged. 'That I don't know. I have my theories. Clusinus spent a lot of time hunting on the high ground. The day after Navius broke his arm I was up here checking the shaft. If Clusinus had seen me from above I wouldn't put it past him to put two and two together because the bastard had a nose for things like that. Certainly the next time I checked, about ten days later, the hole'd been deepened and the tomb breached.'

'So you watched.'

'I watched, but I never saw anything. It wasn't until I'd killed Navius that I found it was Clusinus. Then I followed him to Bubo.' Yeah; that made sense. Clusinus would already've taken the bracelet he needed to set up the deal, plus Thupeltha's bracelet and the cup; there was no point in pulling any more stuff out before he had things off and running. And by that time he was dead. 'I've no regrets about killing these two. They deserved everything they got.'

'The hurdle? That was in memory of Turnus Herdonius, right?'

'It was.' Another mirthless grin. 'I'm impressed, Corvinus. You've done your homework. Bubo I meant to knife, but then I saw the hammer leaning against the wall and used that instead.'

'Yeah? And why would you do that now?'

'It was for Charun, the underworld demon who protects the tomb. Charun kills with a hammer. I wanted both of the bastards to go below knowing Tarquin had sent them there himself. By proxy, if you like.'

Gods! Talk about warped! Even Perilla hadn't spotted that one! Still, there was a sort of crazy logic to it.

He was looking at me with a half-smile on his lips. 'So? No more questions?'

'No. I think that about covers it.'

'Then I have a question for you. What do you intend to do now?'

The hard ones first. 'That depends. Clusinus and Bubo, I'd have no quarrel with you there, pal. Like you say, they're no loss and they brought it on themselves. Navius and Hilarion are a different matter. Sure, I take your arguments, but they weren't executions, they were murders. And there's still Larth Papatius.'

He nodded. 'Yes. And like I said it doesn't matter. The tomb's safe, and Publius – you remember Publius? My nephew in the records office? – Publius knows it's here. He's a good boy, a credit to the family, and he'll have my land after I'm gone. He'll look after it.' Another shrug. 'Don't worry, Corvinus. I'll give you no trouble. There're no hard feelings, either.'

'Fine. You want to go, then?'

'Of course. Once I've said goodbye to the king.'

He'd brought a rope and a couple of lamps with him. While I watched he climbed down the shaft of the storm drain – these things have steps built into the sides – then paused and looked up.

'You coming?' he said.

I felt the cold sweat break out all over. I wasn't scared of Arruns; murderer he may have been, but the guy was honest by his own lights. What frightened me was staring down that black hole and knowing (or rather not knowing) what was waiting at the bottom. Like I say, you don't mess with the dead. Still, if I funked out now I knew I'd regret it all my life. After all, how many people get to see the inside of a tomb belonging to a legend?

Curiosity won. I offered up a quick prayer to whatever god or goddess looked after brain-dead smartasses who didn't have the sense they were born with and set off down the shaft.

There was just room enough at the foot for both of us to stand with what proved to be the capstone of the tomb between us. Somebody – Clusinus, probably – had hammered an iron staple into a crevice in the shaft wall, and Arruns tied the rope to it. Then he lifted up the capstone.

Blank darkness yawned at me, and a chill breath touched my legs. I shivered, the hairs crawling on my scalp.

Arruns threw one end of the rope down. I heard it hit the floor somewhere below. He took a firm grip and eased himself over the edge. The top of his head disappeared into the blackness under my feet.

I waited. There was the sound of a strike-light and then the glow of a lamp. I could see the floor now, or part of it: stone slabs, about ten feet down.

'Come on, Corvinus. It's safe enough.'

A drop of sweat ran down past my ear. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

Okay. So here goes…

My legs wouldn't move. I didn't blame them. Me, given the preference, I'd rather jump into a tiger pit.

'Corvinus!'

I swallowed, took a hold of the rope and went down it. My sandals hit stone and I let go.

Arruns was lighting the other lamp. I looked round…

We weren't alone. The third man was lying on a couch as if he was at a dinner party, watching me closely. He had a neat pointed beard, almond eyes and a faint smile to his mouth. I almost screamed before I realised he was a life-sized clay figure and the couch was the top of a clay coffin.

So that was what Rome's last king had looked like. I glanced at Arruns. Yeah. Same cheekbones, same bone structure. Family tomb, right enough.

The back of my neck felt cold.

Then I noticed what else was in the room. The place wasn't big, sure, no more than ten feet by ten, but apart from the bit of floor we were standing on it was packed: chests, jars, a jumble of vases, weapons. Even a big old shield you could've used to fricassé a sheep in. Most of the chests were open, and from some of them came the glint of gold and silver.

Then there were the walls…

Paintings have never turned me on, but these were something else. We were in the middle of some sort of huge eternal party, with flute-players and acrobats and gladiators. And the figures were alive. They moved and flickered in the lamplight, spinning and turning like they were dancing to music I couldn't hear. I let my eyes wander round the room, taking it all in, pushing down the thought that maybe it wasn't my imagination, maybe the bastards were alive. Or something. Finally I looked back at the man on the couch. The fingers of his right hand had been contoured to hold a cup – the cup I'd returned to Arruns with the bracelet: that was on the statue's wrist, just as the cup was back in his hand – and he was raising it to me, like you would in a toast. Only this toast had lasted five hundred years.