He stood a moment, perfectly at ease, considering how to begin. When finally he spoke, it was in flawless Alexandrian Greek, and his voice was deep and strong, a voice accustomed to giving commands. “Odysseus Memnon was an important man, known and honored in the highest circles in Rome. You are honored too, because you are his family.”
He paused, his eyes moving slowly from face to face. “It is to express his high regard for you all that Nero Caesar has sent me, his personal agent, all the way from Rome to seek out the monster who has murdered Odysseus Memnon, robbing you of a loving father and husband, and Caesar of a faithful Roman subject.”
His eye lit on a group of cowering slaves and he smiled faintly. “Do not be afraid, any of you. There will be no torture, only a few polite questions. All I want is simple truth.” He looked Hathor straight in the eye. “I’m sure,” he continued mildly, “that is what we all want… isn’t it?”
* * * *
The soldier stepped out into the sunlight and took up a position next to the Doric column on one side of the front entrance of the Memnon mansion. He exchanged salutes with the two men who stood there waiting, then said crisply, “Hesperian wants you two inside.”
Optio Mannus, Hesperian’s second-in-command, felt a poke in his ribs and turned angrily to face his companion, the clerk Librarius Daphnis, who said, “Hesperian had to march in there without us, didn’t he?”
“It makes a better impression if an officer enters alone. If he has a lot of flunkies with him it looks like he can’t make his own decisions,” said Mannus.
“How theatrical! Is he a soldier or an actor?”
As they passed through the doorway Mannus said, “I’ve never known an effective officer who wasn’t both.”
Daphnis laughed disdainfully. “I knew you’d say something like that.”
They came out of the entrance into the great hall and saw Hesperian at the opposite end of the room, beyond the foot of the marble staircase, at the entrance to the peristyle, an enclosed garden in the center of the house surrounded on all sides by a two-story colonnade, but open to the morning sky. He was standing at ease, legs apart, arms folded on his chest, chatting with the young girl in the long white silk gown who, Mannus was later to learn, was Hathor, daughter of the murdered man.
Mannus and Daphnis came to attention, thumped their breastplates and, right arms extended, called out, “Ave Caesar!”
Hesperian turned to them with a nod. “Ave Caesar.”
“Isn’t this a beautiful garden?” He gestured through the doorway. “If this lovely young lady grants us permission,” he touched Hathor on the forearm, “we can use the garden to discuss the case.”
Hathor nodded, blushing.
The three men walked out among the carefully tended flowerbeds and Hesperian selected a circle of stone benches some distance from the entrance. “This will do,” he said.
Daphnis seated himself on one of the benches and, from a sack tied to his belt, produced the tools of his trade: A scroll of papyrus, a reed pen, a block of dry ink, and a vial of water. He knew without being told that he would soon be required to record the testimony of the witnesses and suspects. He wet the ink block, touched the pen to it, drew an experimental line on the palm of his left hand and, satisfied, quickly rubbed it out against his other palm. “We won’t have much time, sir. The Festival is the day after tomorrow and then…”
Hesperian said quietly: “Two days should be enough.” He seated himself on the bench next to Daphnis.
Daphnis and Mannus exchanged glances; neither had forgotten their bet.
“Let’s begin by having a look at the murder weapon,” Hesperian said.
“I don’t see how we can get hold of it without contacting the local authorities, sir,” Mannus said. “You gave orders that you did not wish the local authorities to know we were here.”
Hesperian nodded, fingering his chin thoughtfully. “I see, I see, but according to the preliminary hearing it was a standard issue Roman army pilum. Isn’t that right?” The pilum was a javelin or throwing spear. Standing taller than a man, it had a wooden shaft and a long iron point. Only the tip of the point was tempered; the rest of the point was left untempered and relatively soft so that if it lodged in an enemy shield it would bend and be difficult to remove.
Mannus was carrying a scroll containing the transcript of the hearing, but he had read it over so often he almost knew it by heart. “Yes, sir. It was a pilum, sir.”
“Our own men here must be carrying pilums almost identical to it,” Hesperian said. “Go fetch one for me, will you, Mannus?”
Mannus hurried off and quickly returned with a pilum borrowed from one of the Praetorians. He handed it to Hesperian, who hefted it with an experienced hand. “Daphnis here thinks the weapon indicates our criminal might be a Roman soldier,” Hesperian said, looking up at Mannus from under his shaggy gray eyebrows. “What do you think?”
“Sounds possible,” Mannus said, straightening.
Hesperian shook his head. “Not to me. Why would a soldier use such an incriminating weapon?”
“He might,” Daphnis said stubbornly. “It is impossible to underestimate the intelligence of the average army recruit.”
“I say this thing could have been thrown by anyone,” Mannus said. “Anyone could buy one. Did you notice as we came through the marketplace? There’s all sorts of Roman military equipment for sale in Alexandria from those ghoulish battlefield scavengers who trade in souvenirs from the war in Judea.”
“You’re right when you say anyone could buy one,” Hesperian answered, laying the spear aside. “But could anyone throw one? I wonder.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Mannus said.
“Can you remember what happened the first time you picked up one of these things?” He indicated the pilum.
“Why… yes, sir, I can.”
“Tell me, Mannus.”
Mannus was embarrassed. “The point hit the ground, sir. I grabbed it too far back on the shaft.”
“Don’t let it bother you. Everyone does the same thing the first time they pick it up. It takes time to learn how to pick up a pilum, let alone how to use it.” The centurion gave Mannus a reassuring pat on the arm. “Now, bring the slaves to me, one at a time. I saw a little black girl out there. She can be first. If she told any lies to the first investigators, she will have forgotten them by now.”
* * * *
Hesperian raised his hand for silence and Sabella momentarily ceased her babbling. She had been so relieved when she learned that she was indeed not going to be tortured that she had begun pouring out everything she knew about the Memnons in a wild disjointed torrent. “Wait a minute, child. Give my clerk a chance to catch up.” Daphnis was writing frantically.
“What do you make of it?” Hesperian said to Mannus.
“It seems we were right about the suspects leaving Alexandria, sir. It’s so odd, don’t you think? I mean this girl Hathor going to Greece with her brother at just this time?”
Hesperian frowned. “Don’t forget that Greece is a part of the Roman Empire. If I wanted to disappear, I don’t think I’d go there. I’d go east, to India, as Adrastia and Demetrius were planning to do. In fact, once beyond the bounds of the Roman Empire, what would prevent them from changing course and, steering around the war zone in Judea, ending up at the court of Nero’s unfriendly friend, King Vologases of Parthia?”
“You may have something there,” Mannus said.
Hesperian returned his attention to the slave. “And you say you saw Hathor in the Egyptian Quarter, dressed as a native?”
“Oh yes. Oh yes, sir. Anyway I think it was her.”
Hesperian said little, only guiding her with an occasional question, mainly listening and thinking. Mannus had seen him operate like this before, feeling his way along unt
il something seemed odd or suspicious. The centurion was so casual he seemed almost to be chatting, but it was quickly established that Sabella could account for her whereabouts at the time of old Odysseus Memnon’s death. She had been in the kitchen with Hathor.
“You’re sure of that, girl?”
“Oh yes, sir; yes, sir. Ask Hathor!”
“I will.”
“And the other time, when Rophos died, I was helping with the serving, but I didn’t have nothing to do with the soup. I was standing in the doorway when he fell.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Nothing to tell. Rophos swayed a little, Hathor saw him swaying and yelled out a warning to her father. Old man Memnon, see, was just about to taste the soup, but when she yelled, he didn’t. Then poor Rophos, he went down flop on the floor. It was awful!” She threw up her arms.
“Let’s get back to Memnon,” muttered Daphnis, looking up from his scroll. “He’s the important one.”
“They were both killed by the same person,” Mannus said impatiently.
“Are you sure?” Hesperian demanded. “Perhaps, since we have two murders, we also have two murderers.” He raised an eyebrow.
Mannus and Daphnis considered this suggestion uncomfortably. Yes, it was possible.
“My scribe,” Hesperian told the girl, “wants to talk about the night of Memnon’s death. You’re not very heavy, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“In fact you must be the lightest person in this household.”
“Except for the dwarfs, sir.”
“The dwarfs. Yes.” He paused, lost in thought for a moment, then said, “Do you think that if you tried to climb the vines on the outside of the house, they would hold your weight”
“I don’t know. Maybe so. I never tried.”
“They’re pretty thick, sir,” Mannus put in. “Daphnis and I had a look at them as we were coming in. I’m sure they’d hold her weight.”
“Would you hand me that spear?” Hesperian gestured toward the pilum that now lay at his feet on the multicolored bright mosaic walkway.
“Who, me?” Sabella said, bewildered.
“Yes.”
She leaned over quickly and picked it up. Mannus saw that she’d grasped it too far back on the shaft and so was not surprised when the point dropped and struck the walkway with a clank. It seemed obvious that Sabella had never touched such a weapon before.
“That’s fine,” Hesperian said soothingly. “You can put it down now.” The pilum fell to the walkway with a clatter and Sabella stood looking down at it, round-eyed.
“Sabella,” Hesperian continued. “You were present when Odysseus announced his impending conversion to Christianity, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You heard him say he planned to give all he owned to the Christians.”
Mannus realized that Hesperian was now going over the findings of the earlier investigation, making sure of the correctness of every statement made in it. Thus far he had not found out anything much beyond what the others had already uncovered.
“Yes, sir. All he owned. And me he was going to sell!” This last was spoken in a tone of hurt indignation.
Mannus saw the centurion lean forward, suddenly interested. “You didn’t want to be sold?” Hesperian asked softy.
“No sir! My Master and Mistress, they was good to me, like as if they was my own mama and papa. I’d of done anything to stay with them.”
“Including murder?” Hesperian inquired mildly.
Sabella burst out in a flood of terrified protest: “It wasn’t me, sir! Not me! I didn’t do nothing! It wasn’t me wanted the old man dead. No, sir! No, sir! It’s Serapion who wanted the Master dead!”
“Serapion?” This was something new, something the previous investigation had missed.
“That’s right, sir! Serapion, he told me he’d rather see his daddy dead than a Christian!”
* * * *
“Demetrius Memnon,” announced Wakar, then stepped back to admit Odysseus Memnon’s brother. The old man entered the garden already talking, waving his bony arms and protesting his innocence. “I was with Adrastia in her room that night! There were serving maids in the room the whole time! Torture them! They’ll tell you.”
He reached the bench where Hesperian sat and stopped, wringing his hands. “Torture them,” he repeated weakly.
Hesperian waved this suggestion aside. “Demetrius, don’t you know that I’ve given my word not to use torture, and a Roman officer keeps his word, even to slaves?”
Demetrius spied the scroll in Mannus’ hand. “Isn’t that the transcript of the previous investigation?”
Hesperian nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then you know from that I’m telling the truth,” the old man cried triumphantly. “My story and Adrastia’s and the serving maids… they all agreed.”
Hesperian asked, “You and Adrastia, as things stood, would be the ones to get the Memnon fortune, isn’t that right?”
“Why yes, but…”
Hesperian raised his hand for silence. “And you have in fact now gained effective control over all that Odysseus had?”
“Yes…”
“Then we must consider the possibility that you and Adrastia and the servants are all lying to protect each other and the inheritance. The servants gain a home where they are treated, it would seem, with an unusual laxity. Adrastia retains her wealth and position and you, you gain most of all. The control of the Memnon financial empire rests in your hands and your hands alone. If motive were the only consideration, I wouldn’t consider the others as suspects for one moment,” he said, studying Demetrius with a calculating eye. “No, I wouldn’t consider them for a minute. Only you!”
Demetrius was flustered, but still game. “Someone from outside…” he began weakly.
“The dogs rule that out,” Hesperian said with amusement. “I noticed that when I arrived they had to be forcibly restrained from attacking my men, but,” he added with a faint, mocking smile, “there may be an outside influence at work.”
Demetrius blinked rapidly.
“There are those who say,” continued the centurion, head cocked slightly to one side, “that you and your late brother traded outside the normal officially approved routes, that you traded, in fact, with nations who were enemies of Rome.”
“Lies!” cried Demetrius in sudden panic.
“I think not,” Hesperian said calmly.
“Do I look like a traitor?” Demetrius demanded, turning to Mannus who stood nearby, arms folded. Mannus shrugged, as if to say he had no idea. He thought, however, that the old Greek-Egyptian did indeed look guilty of something.
“How can you say that?” Demetrius asked Hesperian pleadingly.
“My instincts guide me,” Hesperian explained, “You see, my friend, I have trained myself all my life in the art of criminal investigation. My usefulness to Rome and perhaps… yes, perhaps even my pride in myself as a man, is dependent on my success in tracking down the guilty.” He had become suddenly confidential, as if speaking to an old friend.
Demetrius was thrown off balance by the change in tone. “What if you… what if you fail?” he blurted.
Hesperian stood up and drew his short sword. Thoughtfully examining its good Spanish blade, he said, “Then I will know I have become an old man, and neither I nor my emperor has any use for the old. I once saw an old man, Demetrius, and this old man was a poet and teller of tales… very good at his trade. He slit his wrists at a dinner party and slowly bled to death, cynical jokes and sly obscenities on his lips to the last. We did not know he was dying. We did not even know he’d cut himself. And we did not know it when he was dead. We thought he was only sleeping, you see, or that he’d had perhaps too much wine.”
Hesperian sighed. “He was a brave and wise man, an inspiring example.” He touched the shuddering Demetrius on the cheek with the sword point. “Wouldn’t you like to die like that, old man?”
Demetrius recoiled, his hand raised to protect his cheek. “I don’t want to die at all!”
“But you will.” Hesperian sheathed the short sword. “We all do. Our only choice in the matter is to die well or badly.”
“Please, sir…” Demetrius was almost on the verge of tears. Daphnis glanced up from his work, amused. Mannus thought, Daphnis loves nothing better than to see other men suffer.
“Pick up the spear,” commanded Hesperian, his tone suddenly harsh, almost angry.
“What?”
“The spear! Pick it up!”
Without thinking, Demetrius obeyed, stooping and gripping the shaft exactly at the center of gravity, which was much further forward than one might expect to look at it.
“You handle it well,” commented the centurion.
“Thank you,” answered Demetrius, hefting the pilum proudly and flashing a smile that slowly faded as full realization of the meaning of this remark dawned on him. He threw the spear down as if it were a snake and cried, “No! Not me! Serapion!”
“Serapion?”
“Serapion handles the pilum a thousand times better than I. Once at sea we were attacked by pirates… you should have seen him! Five pilums! Five seconds! Five dead pirates!” He clutched Hesperian’s muscular arm. “Serapion has weapons, lots of weapons. Old Roman uniforms and armor. Spears. Swords. Knives. Everything! He collects them!”
“Are you trying to tell me Serapion is the murderer?” Hesperian gently removed the withered claw from his arm.
Demetrius stepped back, shaking his head dazedly. “He’s so strange. Only the gods know what a man like that might do!”
Hesperian turned to Mannus. “Take this man out and bring in the wife—what’s her name?—Adrastia.”
Dog-Headed Death: A Gaius Hesperian Mystery Page 9