by Mike Ashley
‘Thank you.’ I nodded. ‘Now, I understand everyone in this room was in the library at the time of the murder?’
‘All except, my assistant, Mosse,’ said Librarian. ‘He’s working in my office.’
‘I will have to speak to him,’ I said. ‘He’s a suspect, too.’
‘Surely not Mosse? He can’t bring himself to squash a spider.’
‘Understand clearly that he and everyone else here must all be suspects until we find the murderer. And the thief who stole the map.’
Marcus scratched his curly head. ‘Surely they must be one and the same?’
‘Not necessarily.’
Chrysippus blew out his cheeks. ‘Where will we begin to solve this riddle?’
‘By taking one very small step at a time.’ I tried to sound confident, but I was far from certain I could achieve anything in the five or so hours before General Romulus returned expecting to find one map and one murderer. ‘As I have said, I intend to approach this as if I am treating a patient. As I’d need to know all the patient’s symptoms, so I need to examine every detail surrounding the murder; it doesn’t matter how unimportant, how trivial they seem. I must know everything.’
Firstly, I made a list of all who were present in the library at the time of the murder. Excluding the late Diomedes, there were nine in all:
Librarian
Young Marcus
Elephantine Chrysippus
Servant Mosse
Benjamin (an elderly Jew, copying Hebrew texts)
Silanus (a teacher of mathematics from Sicily)
Ha’radaa (some kind of cleric from the East; he could only speak a few words of Roman)
Staki (alocalrogue, probablyonlyinthelibrarytostealbooks in the hope of selling them back again)
Gabinius (thered-facedscribeemployedbyGeneralRomulus)
First I took Gabinius to one side and asked him why he and the late Diomedes had come to the library.
‘General Romulus commissioned me five years ago to find a map.’
‘And tonight you found it?’
‘Yes. The search took us from Athens to Rome, through Spain, and finally here to Alexandria. It was a map drawn by the captain of a merchant ship during the reign of Tiberius.’
‘Why is it so important?’
‘I have been ordered by the General not to tell a soul about the map.’
‘You’re afraid the General will have you killed if you breathe a word about the map to me? I don’t think that’s an important consideration now, do you?’
‘Listen to me. I’m as good as dead now. What I don’t want to do is anger Romulus so much that he orders the execution of my family, because, believe me, Amun-Arten, that’s exactly what will happen if I tell you about the map.’
‘I can’t force you, but it might help.’
‘I’m sorry. I won’t discuss the map.’
‘Tell me what happened tonight then.’
‘The door was locked, as you know, when we broke in we –’
‘No. Tell me everything from you leaving your lodgings.’
‘That was this morning. Diomedes and I walked to the library together from the house I’ve been renting. It’s the first house in Hadrian’s Square.’
‘No one followed you here?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Nothing unusual had happened recently?’
‘Such as?’
‘No thieves had stolen any of your belongings, no strangers calling at your house?’
‘No. But wait a minute . . . there was something . . .’ His eyes flashed with triumph as if he’d solved the riddle. ‘I believe I know who was responsible.’ He beckoned to me so he could whisper in my ear. ‘The old man, sitting on the floor there.’
‘You mean Benjamin?’
‘Yes. I would often see him standing near the house. He must have been watching us.’
‘You saw him every morning?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘Good heavens, why?’
‘Because he is obeying my instructions.’
The man’s face turned dangerously red. ‘What’s this? There’s a plot?’
‘Calm down, Gabinius. You say you live in the first house in the Square of Hadrian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Next door to you is a man who keeps a herd of goats.’
‘I don’t understand what you –’
‘Benjamin, like most inhabitants of Egypt, has teeth worn down to the pulp. The millstone grit in our bread makes no distinction between creed or race. Three years ago Benjamin came to me so undernourished because he couldn’t bear to chew any food that his wife feared he would die. Abscesses in the gums, you see. So, I pulled his teeth and drained the abscesses with a hollow reed. I also recommended he drink a cup of milk every morning to supplement his diet. I’m heartened that he still heeds my advice.’
‘But he’s a Jew,’ added Gabinius more loudly as if seeing a way out of all this.
‘I see, and we should blame Benjamin, the Jew, for the theft?’
‘Yes . . . yes of course!’
I sighed heavily. ‘Benjamin is an Alexandrian who happens to be a Jew. Librarian is Gnostic. Marcus belongs to a Hermetic order. Chrysippus divides his worship between Apollo in the temple across the square and Bacchus in the tavern down by the harbour.’
‘But surely –’
‘But surely not even General Romulus could seriously suspect such an elderly gentleman as Benjamin to be physically capable of so determined a piece of violence? Moreover, Romulus will want his map. Does Benjamin have it?’
‘I imagine not.’ The red-faced man shook his head, defeated.
‘Now tell me what happened when you arrived at the library.’
Gabinius told me that they began sifting through the documents in search of the map. When they found it their screams of joy brought Mosse running, thinking Librarian was being murdered. At the same time the monkeys began arriving – a clear indication that there would be riots that night in the city. Librarian ordered that the library doors be locked in case the mob decided to rush the building. Regrettably the mob has lately seen books as a symbol of imperial authority. So if they can’t burn the Emperor they burn his books.
After the initial elation of finding the map had worn off, Gabinius realized he had a problem. With the map of such vital importance in his grasp, his first impulse was simply to run to the General’s quarters straight away to deliver it in person; with the mob threatening to take to the street, however, that was too hazardous. So he decided to send a messenger and await the arrival of armed guards to escort them and the map safely to the General. As always men’s egos can overcome logic. He decided he wanted to greet Romulus on the steps with the good news and so bask in the General’s congratulations, and no doubt promises of financial reward. Still fearing some harm might come to the precious map, he chose to lock both it and his assistant, Diomedes, into the Isis Room. The door was reinforced with iron strips and carried hefty bolts on both sides, so it could be locked on the outside by Gabinius and on the inside by Diomedes. Librarian, Mosse and Gabinius could all attest to seeing Diomedes alive and well – the map securely in his hand – as the door was locked; Gabinius even took the precaution of sitting on a stool right outside the door, a warder of his own good luck and, no doubt, a terrible temptation to Fate. He intended to wait there until the moment came to greet the General at the library entrance. A message was sent. Then almost half an hour later there came the sound of a commotion from inside the room. There were shouts, a series of heavy banging sounds, then complete silence.
Quite naturally alarmed by what must be happening inside the room Gabinius unbolted his side of the door, only to find it still bolted on the other side. Within moments all the book-flies and Librarian were there trying to rouse the man inside the room. That was around the time I arrived at the library. Then, of course, the door was forced and we found the unfortunate man d
ead. It took little of my skill to determine that his head injuries, caused by heavy blows, were the cause of death. He had, however, suffered bruising and grazing to other parts of his body; and his fists were badly bruised as if he’d punched his assailant. I noticed the man had a set of exceptionally fine teeth with no sign of decay, or indeed any of the kind of excessive dental erosion that is common in a man of his years. I clicked my tongue at the waste of such good teeth in a dead mouth.
Marcus had noticed the injured fists and said hopefully, ‘If we find bruises on the body of one of us then surely we have the murderer.’
‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘if you will all submit to an examination.’
All those present had no recent injuries. Except, that is, the Eastern cleric by the name of Ha’radaa, a tiny dark-skinned man with oriental eyes, dressed in a simple saffron-yellow robe. He had recent bruising to one cheek bone and his upper chest. Interrogating him wasn’t easy; he spoke only a few tourist phrases of Roman. He seemed very suspicious of us all and despite remaining softly spoken and constantly smiling I detected an agitated mind.
‘So, we have our murderer?’ Marcus allowed himself a smile. ‘He was bruised in the fight with the scribe, before killing him.’
‘And the map?’ I asked.
‘He’s hidden it somewhere amongst the books so he can collect it later.’
Again I gave a helpless shrug. A habit I’d developed in the last two hours. ‘Possible. Very possible. But those bruises may be anything up to a day old. And how on earth did he walk through that locked door, kill the scribe and steal the map? Librarian, do you know anything about this Eastern gentleman?’
‘Very little. He first came into the library three days ago. What was he interested in? Ah, yes. He’s been copying the ancient Egyptian papyri. I thought it a little odd because, as you know, no one knows how to read the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic script – and few would care to.’
I tried speaking with Ha’radaa again, but he could only answer ‘yes’ and ‘no’, and the look of confusion on his face was painful to see.
An idea occurred to me. The temple walls were covered with those impenetrable hieroglyphics. I pointed at an inscription ringed by a cartouche. The man’s eyes brightened, the smile broadened. ‘Imhotep,’ he said happily. I pointed to another. Without hesitation he said, ‘Rameses.’ Then slowly I ran my finger along a line of glyphs and he read them in a form of archaic Egyptian that was alien to me.
‘Thank you,’ I bowed my head to acknowledge his wisdom, then I turned to Marcus. ‘He does seem to be here to genuinely study the ancient texts, but because of the bruising we must place him at the top of our suspects list.’
‘Are you going to question everyone here? Staki’s a known criminal.’
‘True.’ I nodded. ‘And if he knew the map was of great value he might be tempted to steal it. But he’s a petty pickpocket, an opportunist thief who’ll steal a tunic from a washing line, or a book from one of these shelves; not a murderer.’
‘Where’s he sloped off to anyway?’
‘He’s sitting facing the corner. Obviously he’s hoping no one will notice him.’
Then a surprising thing happened.
The man to take most notice of him was little Ha’radaa. Immediately the man began shouting in his strange sing-song language, then launched himself at Staki. Staki bellowed and used big theatrical gestures that spoke in any language, ‘Come near me and I’ll punch your head in.’
Ha’radaa slapped his chest and his forehead while pouring out a torrent of words that no man there could understand.
At last we parted them.
‘What was all that about, Theo?’ asked Marcus.
‘Goodness knows. My guess though, is it’s a personal matter between them. And if it doesn’t have any bearing helping us find the map and the murderer I think it best if we ignore it. Time is running out, my friend.’
Marcus swallowed and lightly rubbed his throat, no doubt imagining the press of iron there in a few short hours. ‘I’m afraid, Theo. My wife is pregnant again. Who will look after her when –’
‘Hush, friend, hush,’ I said softly, then smiled. ‘Congratulations on the happy event anyway. You must bring Kiya to my house tomorrow evening, so I can satisfy myself everything is going according to nature’s plan.’
‘But –’
‘But nothing, Marcus. This is where we roll up our sleeves and solve the mystery.’
‘Are you going to question the others?’
‘A waste of time . . . a waste of very precious time. No, the only man who can tell us what happened in here is that man there.’
Marcus looked incredulous. ‘Diomedes? He can tell us nothing. The man is cold.’
‘Correction, young Marcus, that corpse can tell us everything. And the physician who cannot question the dead is scarcely worth his salt, my friend.’
I then took the precaution of clearing everyone out of the room apart from Librarian, Marcus and Gabinius. Chrysippus was charged with keeping Ha’radaa and Staki apart. They all took refuge in the adjoining reading room because the monkeys were still raining pieces of statue down onto the guards. The latter, not learning from experience, went on firing their arrows upward, hitting nothing but stone; their angry voices echoed from the walls.
I pushed the door of Isis room shut. ‘Gentlemen, do you remember if the room is still as you found it when we forced the door?’
Librarian said, ‘More or less, but the body has been – ahm – somewhat disturbed since the discovery. Friend Gabinius searched it for the map, and, ahm, General Romulus abused it in his anger.’
‘Do you agree, Gabinius and Marcus?’
Both nodded. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Allow me to talk this through with you. I acknowledge I’m all too human, therefore all too fallible. So please correct me if I miss anything. We have a room lit by three large oil lamps that hang by long cords from the ceiling. This is a reading room so they are suspended at a little over head-height.’
‘Is this relevant?’ interrupted Gabinius, face redder than ever.
‘It is relevant. In fact I believe it is vital. So, please, let me have your cooperation. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The room itself is very tall. I imagine eight men could stand on each other’s shoulders before the one on top could reach the ceiling. The room itself must have once served as some kind of antechamber to the main temple. We have bas-relief carvings of animals on the walls, carved hieroglyphics. Only at the very top of the walls do we have any apertures that admit daylight.’ I looked up and could just make out, reflected from the limestone walls, the soft peach glow of the lighthouse burning out there on the Pharos, guiding ships safely through the night. (How I wished, there and then, I could walk with you down to the shore, hold your hand, and watch the waves whispering, like the song of Arion, across the sand in the moonlight.)
I took a deep breath and continued: ‘The floor consists of rectangular stone slabs. It is scrupulously swept clean of litter and dust. And you’ll agree, gentleman, it is clean of any marks apart from a little of the deceased’s blood. There are a few dried lotus petals and a length of stout cord. Good. Now, on to the furnishings. In the centre of the room is one oblong stone table. It is bare. And there are two stools. Both of which have been broken.’
‘They must have been used in the fight,’ said Marcus.
‘At the moment, I feel we should confine ourselves to describing what we actually do see. Not speculating how the stools became broken. If we jump to conclusions about the stools we may jump to the wrong conclusion about what happened in here.’
‘But we heard the crash of stools being used as clubs.’
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ said Gabinius, clearly irritated by my slowness, and hesitancy. ‘The assailant or assailants used the stools to beat my assistant to death.’
‘Marcus,’ I said. ‘Take this stool, it’s the more intact of the two. That’s it. Hold the legs with both hands. Yes, that’s right.’
&
nbsp; ‘But what do you want me to do with it, Theo?’
‘Why . . . hit me with it of course.’
‘You’re joking, Theo.’
‘There’s no time for jokes. Just use the stool as if it were a club and hit me with it. Go on, Marcus. Quickly.’
Although baffled he did as he was told, lifted the stool like a club and –
– clunk –
– the stool hit one of the low hanging lamps. It swung sending shadows dancing madly around the room.
Startled, Marcus lowered the stool. Librarian steadied the lamp.
‘Is it broken?’ I asked.
‘He’s knocked the bottom out of it. Careful you don’t step on the oil. You’d slip and crack your skull.’
I skirted the pool of oil on the stone slabs. ‘Let’s examine the other two lamps. See? They’re intact.’
‘So,’ Marcus said, his eyes bright. ‘You realized that if the murderer and victim had fought with stools they would have smashed one or more of the lamps when they raised the stools.’
‘So, how did the stools get broken?’ Gabinius sounded even more irritable. ‘How did someone get into this locked room and kill my assistant and steal the map? Did they have wings and fly in from one of those windows up there?’
I looked up. ‘I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I don’t believe in witchcraft. Whoever killed this man was mortal.’
Puzzled, Marcus ran his fingers through his tight curls. ‘Could anyone have entered through the window up there?’
I shrugged. ‘Possibly. But somehow he would have had to scale the outer wall of the library (the height of eight men remember) and then climb down here into the room, without the victim noticing; then returning the way he came – the murderer would have had to have been as agile as a monkey.’
‘Earlier you mentioned the state of the soles of the dead man’s feet. That they are coated with a black substance when they should be grey with street dust.’
‘Well remembered, Marcus. Yes, I think they hold a powerful clue to what happened in here. I think the dried lotus petals are significant, too. Oh? Please, you mustn’t allow me to miss any details. The cord . . . how did that cord come to be in the room?’