A Gladiator Dies Only Once rsr-11

by Steven Saylor

  "But Gordianus," Cicero protested, "this sort of thing is your specialty. And if I understand you correctly, Agathinus was there to meet you, and to do you a favor-though it seems he could as easily have shown the tomb to me instead. Do you feel no obligation to discover the truth?"

  Cicero is a master at playing on a man's honor. I resisted. "Are you hiring me to investigate his death?"

  "Gordianus-always money! Paying you for such a service would hardly be my responsibility, but I'm sure I can persuade the local Roman magistrate to do so. I might point out that your participation would also remove you from suspicion. Well?" He raised an eyebrow.

  There was no debating logic with Cicero. "I'll do it."

  "Good! First, someone will have to inform his friends and family. Dealing with a widow takes a certain finesse-I'll handle that. I leave it to you to deliver the sad news to his partner, Dorotheus."

  "And Margero?"

  "Ah yes, I suppose the poet will want to compose some funeral verses in praise of his dead patron."

  Unless, I thought, Margero had been the author of Agathinus's death.

  Margero's place was a small but respectable house in the heart of the city. I rapped upon the door politely with my foot and was shown by a slave through a modest atrium into a modest garden. After a long wait, Margero appeared wearing a rumpled robe. The ringlets across his forehead were in disarray and his eyes were puffy with sleep.

  "It's close to midday," I said. "Do all poets sleep this late?"

  "They do if they've drunk as much as I did last night."

  "I didn't notice you drinking any more than the rest of us."

  "What makes you think I stopped drinking after I left?"

  "You had a late night, then?"

  "What business is that of yours, Roman?"

  "One of your patrons is dead."

  In the span of a heartbeat several emotions crossed his handsome features, beginning with what might have been surprise and a flicker of hope, and ending with a grimace that might have been no more than a symptom of his hangover. "Dorotheus?"

  "No."

  A definite smile of satisfaction flickered across his lips.

  "Agathinus-dead? But how?"

  "Eco and I found him this morning, outside the Achradina Gate." I described the circumstances.

  "Impaled? How gruesome." Margero's disgust slowly turned to amusement. "Yet how appropriate! An ironical turnabout from his usual preference." He laughed out loud. "Agathinus, impaled. Delicious! Poor Nikias will be distraught, no doubt. I shall make a poem to console him."

  "Nikias-the boy at the gymnasium?"

  Margero darkened. "How do you know about him?"

  "I know more than I care to about your affairs, and those of Agathinus-and yet, still not enough… "

  "What do you think?" I said to Eco as we made our way toward the large building near the docks where Agathinus and Dorotheus kept their offices and warehouse. "Was Margero really surprised by our bad news?"

  Eco looked pensive. He rotated his palm up and down inconclusively.

  "Let's suppose that Margero overheard Agathinus last night when he arranged to meet us outside the Achradina Gate-" Eco shook his head.

  "Yes, you're right, Margero and Dorotheus had already moved on and were out of earshot. But suppose Agathinus caught up with them and told them of his plan. That's certainly possible."

  Eco nodded sagely.

  "And suppose that Margero volunteered to meet Agathinus this morning, and the two of them got there ahead of us and began to search for the tomb without us-or perhaps Margero showed up on his own, staying hidden, and secretly followed Agathinus into the maze. One way or the other, the two of them ended up there inside the thicket, safely out of sight, and Margero took the opportunity to get rid of his rival for Nikias once and for all."

  Eco shook his head and mimed a poet in the throes of recitation.

  "Yes, I know: Margero is a man of words, not actions. And he'd have to be an awfully good actor, too, if he was faking all his reac-tions when we gave him the news this morning."

  Eco put his cheek against folded hands and feigned sleep.

  "And yes, he was obviously asleep when we called on him-but that proves nothing. Perhaps he stayed up all night so as to ambush Agathinus, then went to bed after the crime."

  Eco clutched an imaginary spike erupting from his chest, then feigned sleep, then shook his head dismissively. How, he asked, could any man sleep after doing such a thing?

  "You have a point there," I admitted. Eco winced, catching the pun before I did. "And another thing: Margero is younger than Agathinus, but was he that much stronger-strong enough to force Agathinus up onto the cube, then push him onto the cone?"

  Dorotheus kept us waiting for some time in the atrium of his busi-ness establishment. At last he appeared, smiling glumly and stroking his bushy beard. "Gordianus and Eco!" he boomed. "Come to say a last farewell before you head back for Rome?"

  "I only wish that we were here on such happy business. It's about Agathinus-"

  "Ah, yes, I learned of the tragedy earlier this morning-his wife sent a messenger the moment she was given the news by Cicero. I understand that you found his body. Horrible! Shocking!"

  "Did you know of his plan to meet me outside the Achradina Gate this morning?"

  "What? Of course not."

  "I thought he might have mentioned it to you and Margero after you left Cicero's house last night."

  "Agathinus caught up with us, yes, and the three of us walked for a while together. But he said nothing of any plans to meet you. I left the two of them outside my door, so Margero saw him last. Now that you mention it-"

  "Yes?"

  "Of late there had been some trouble between them. Perhaps you noticed Margero's rudeness last night, and Agathinus's aloofness. Some silly business over a boy. Absurd, isn't it, how people can go mad over such things? Still, it's hard to believe that Margero could…"

  A slave entered the room and spoke to Dorotheus in hushed tones.

  He shrugged apologetically. "Business. Agathinus's death leaves everything in terrible confusion. You must excuse me. Have a safe journey home, Gordianus!"

  Dorotheus departed with his secretary, leaving us alone in the atrium.

  Or leaving me alone, rather, for when I looked around, Eco had vanished.

  I called his name softly, but this appeared to be another occasion when he had gone conveniently deaf. There were several doorways leading out of the atrium into various parts of the building, but my attention was drawn to a passageway covered by a curtain that had been straight when we arrived but now hung slightly askew. I pushed it back and stepped into a dark hallway.

  On either side, the hall opened onto a series of small offices cluttered with scrolls, bits of papyrus, and wax writing tablets. The offices were deserted, the clerks presumably sent home on account of Agathinus's death. The records stacked all about appeared to be the normal stuff of business-invoices, bills, ledgers. I peeked into each room, softly calling Eco's name.

  The hallway ended in a door, which stood ajar. I pushed it open and stepped into a high, open warehouse filled with crates. The place appeared to be as deserted as the offices, and the mazelike aisles between the stacked boxes reminded me uneasily of the maze-like necropolis outside the Achradina Gate.

  "Eco!" I called softly. "We've no right to be snooping here. Eco, where are you?" I wandered up and down the aisles, until I discov-ered another door at the far corner of the room. It opened into yet another office. From small windows set high in the wall came the sounds of ships knocking together in the harbor and the cry of seagulls. There was no sign of Eco inside. I backed out of the room and closed the door behind me. I took several steps before I suddenly realized what I had seen and hurried back.

  On a table against one wall I saw a simple scale. Neatly stacked beside it were some sample weights of silver and gold. There was also a small wooden tub on the table. I stepped closer. Sure enough, the tub wa
s half filled with water, and there were several waterline markings made with a piece of chalk along the inner surface.

  Behind me, I heard the door close.

  "I thought I bade you farewell, Gordianus." There was not the slightest hint of good humor in Dorotheus's voice. Without the beaming smile, his round, bearded face had a stern, almost menacing look; the constant smile had kept me from seeing the cold, predatory gleam in his eyes, so common in successful traders and merchants. I also realized what a large man he was. Fat, yes, but the fellow had arms like a blacksmith's-strong enough, I had no doubt, to drag the smaller, weaker Agathinus onto the stone cube, and then to push him backward onto the cruel spike.

  "I'm looking for my son," I said, as innocently as I could. "Eco has a terrible habit of wandering off on his own. I really should be less indulgent…"

  But Dorotheus wasn't listening. "How much, Finder?"

  "For what?"

  "How much to shut you up and send you on your way back to Rome?" He might be a murderer, but he was a businessman first.

  If accepting his bribe meant getting safely through the door behind him, why not? But I thought of Agathinus on the night before-the final night of his life-saying, I like you, Gordianus. and I like your son… the way he laughed at Dorotheus's awful jokes…

  and offering to do me the favor of showing me Archimedes's tomb. I remembered the gaping grimace of horror on his face when we found him, and I shuddered, thinking of the appalling agony he must have suffered at the end, transfixed like an insect on a pin.

  "Agathinus did tell you last night about meeting me outside the Achradina Gate?" I said.

  Dorotheus, deciding to submit to a bit of conversation, let his face relax. The hint of a smile returned to his lips. "Yes. He was quite looking forward to tramping through the thicket with you. I insisted on coming along for the fun."

  "And Margero?"

  "I'm afraid I lied to you about that, Finder. Margero excused himself as soon as Agathinus caught up with us last night. He could hardly stand dining in the same room with him, in case you didn't notice, and he was in no mood to stroll along beside him afterward. Probably Margero was in a great hurry to get home so he could get drunk in solitude and make up new poems for that silly boy at the gymnasium."

  "And you?"

  "I saw Agathinus home. Then I came here." "To your offices? In the middle of the night?" "Don't be coy, Finder. You saw the scale and the tub of water." "A demonstration of Archimedes's principle?" "Would you believe, I never quite grasped it, until Cicero explained it last night."

  "What could be so important that you had to rush here at once to try it out?"

  He sighed. "I've suspected for years that Agathinus must be cheating me. Why not? He was always smarter than me, ever since we were boys. And the smarter partner always cheats the stupider one-that's the law of business. So I always watched every transaction, always counted every piece of silver and gold we divided be-tween us. Still, I could never catch him cheating me.

  "For the last shipment of goods, he talked me into taking my pay-ment in gold vessels-pitchers and bowls and such-while he took his in coin. He needed the ready money to spend on certain investments of his own, he said, and what did it matter anyway, so long as we both received the same weight? Secretly, I thought I must be getting the better deal, because worked gold is more valuable than its weight in coinage. Agathinus was counting on my own greed, you see, and he used it against me. He cheated me. The devious bastard cheated me! Last night, with Archimedes's help, I proved it."

  "Proved that your gold vessels weren't made of solid gold?"

  "Exactly."

  "Perhaps Agathinus didn't know."

  "Oh, no, he knew. After we went into the thicket and found the tomb this morning, I confronted him. He denied the deception at first-until I dragged him onto the cube and threatened to throw him on the cone. Then he confessed, and kept on confessing, with the sight of that spike to goad him. It didn't begin with this transaction! He'd been pilfering and corrupting my shares of gold for years, in all sorts of devious ways. I always knew that Agathinus was too clever to be honest!"

  "And after he confessed-" I shuddered, picturing it.

  Dorotheus swallowed hard. "I could say that it was an accident, that he slipped, but why? I'm not proud of it. I was angry-furious! Anger like that comes from the gods, doesn't it? So the gods will understand. And they'll understand why I had to get rid of you, as well." He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a long dagger.

  I coughed. My throat was bone-dry. "I thought you intended to buy my silence."

  "I've changed my mind."

  "But you said-"

  "You never agreed, so there was never a bargain. And now I withdraw that offer."

  I looked around the room for something that might equalize the situation, but saw nothing remotely resembling a weapon. The best I could do was to pick up the tub. I threw the water on him, then threw the tub, which he knocked aside. All I managed was to make him furious and dripping wet. All trace of the laughing, genial dinner companion of the previous night had vanished. Seeing his face now, I would not have known him.

  It was at that moment that the door behind him gave a rattle and burst open.

  Cicero entered first, followed by a troop of well-armed Roman peacekeepers who surrounded Dorotheus at once and took his dagger. Eco trailed behind, leaping in the air in great excitement, the anxious look on his face turning to jubilation when he saw that I was unharmed.

  "Eco fetched you?" I said.

  "Yes," said Cicero.

  "You heard Dorotheus confess?"

  "I heard enough."

  Eco opened his mouth wide and moved his lips, but managed only to produce a stifled grunt.

  "What's the boy trying to say?" asked Cicero. "I think it must be 'Eureka! Eureka!'"

  "Greed!" I said to Eco the next morning, as we made ready to vacate our room at Cicero's house. "Last night I read that idyll of Theocritus,

  the poem that Cicero quoted from at dinner the other night. The poet certainly got it right:

  Men no longer aspire to win praise for noble deeds,

  but think only of profit, profit, profit.

  Clutching their coinbags, always looking for more,

  too stingy to give away the tarnish that comes off their coins!

  "Thanks to greed, Agathinus is dead, Dorotheus awaits trial for his murder, and Margero the poet has lost both of his patrons in one stroke, which means he'll probably have to leave Syracuse. A disaster for them all. It's very sad; enough to make a man want to leave behind the grubby human cares of this world and lose himself in pure geometry, like Archimedes."

  We gathered up our few belongings and went to take our leave of Cicero. There was also the matter of collecting my fees, not only for finding Archimedes's tomb, but for exposing Agathinus's killer.

  From the atrium, I could hear Cicero in his office. He was dictating a letter to Tiro, no doubt intending for me to deliver it when I got back to Rome. Eco and I waited outside the door. It was impossible not to overhear.

  "Dear brother Quintus," Cicero began, "the fellows I was so strongly advised to cultivate here in Syracuse turned out to be of no account-the unsavory details can wait until we meet again. Nonetheless, my holiday here has not been entirely unproductive. You will be interested to learn that I have rediscovered the lost tomb of one of our boyhood heroes, Archimedes. The locals were entirely ignorant of its location; indeed, denied its very existence. Yesterday afternoon, however, I set out with Tiro for the old necropolis outside the Achradina Gate, and there, sure enough, peeking out above a tangle of brambles and vines, I spied the telltale ornaments of a sphere and cylinder atop a column. You must recall that bit of doggerel we learned from our old math tutor:

  A cylinder and ball atop a column tall mark the final stage of the Syracusan sage.

  "Having spotted the tomb, I gave a cry of 'Eureka!' and ordered a group of workers with scythes to clear the thicket
all around. Now the tomb of Archimedes can be seen and approached freely, and has been restored to its rightful status as a shrine to all educated men."

  Cicero did not mention the cube and cone, I noticed. They had been removed along with the thicket, lest someone else meet Agathinus's fate.

  Cicero cleared his throat and resumed dictating. "Ironic, brother Quintus, is it not, and sadly indicative of the degraded cultural stan-dards of these modern Syracusans, that it took a Roman from Arpinum to rediscover for them the tomb of the keenest intellect who ever lived among them?"

  Ironic indeed, I thought.

  DEATH BY EROS

  "The Neapolitans are different from us Romans," I remarked to Eco as we strolled across the central forum of Neapolis. "A man can almost feel that he's left Italy altogether and been magically trans-ported to a seaport in Greece. Greek colonists founded the city hundreds of years ago, taking advantage of the extraordinary bay, which they called the Krater, or Cup. The locals still have Greek names, eat Greek food, follow Greek customs. Many of them don't even speak Latin."

  Eco pointed to his lips and made a self-deprecating gesture to say, Neither do I! At fifteen, he tended to make a joke of everything, in-cluding his muteness.

  "Ah, but you can hear Latin," I said, flicking a finger against one of his ears just hard enough to sting, "and sometimes even understand it."

  We had arrived in Neapolis on our way back to Rome, after doing a bit of business for Cicero down in Sicily. Rather than stay at an inn, I was hoping to find accommodations with a wealthy Greek trader named Sosistrides. "The fellow owes me a favor," Cicero had told me. "Look him up and mention my name, and I'm sure he'll put you up for the night."

  With a few directions from the locals (who were polite enough not to laugh at my Greek) we found the trader's house. The columns and lintels and decorative details of the facade were stained in vari-ous shades of pale red, blue, and yellow that seemed to glow under the warm sunlight. Incongruous amid the play of colors was a black wreath on the door.