The Corpus Conundrum

by Albert A. Bell

  An alley on one end let me get around to the front of the building. The woods marking the edge of the small town had grown right up to the walls, uprooting the sidewalk and the street. Branches from the trees brushed against the shutters. In a few more years the building would begin to crumble from the pressure of the roots.

  The sky darkened as the clouds piled up. Even at mid-morning it felt like evening. The front of the building showed several boarded-up openings which had once been shops. On either end were sets of stairs leading up to the top floor. I intended to get in to all the entrances before I left, but the rain suddenly started pelting me and lightning flashed, so I picked the one that was easiest to pry open with my bare hands.

  The stairway inside stretched all the way across the end of the building to the top floor. With the windows boarded up and no lamps or torches to provide light, the upper reaches disappeared into the gloom, but my eyes, with their preference for dim light, adjusted quickly and I started up the crumbling stairs. At some time the walls had been painted, to judge from the few flakes still clinging to the plaster. It looked like something in the geometric style that was popular before I was born.

  The roof of the building leaked badly enough that the stairs had a slimy coating on them. Between my dizziness and the wet stone of the steps, I stumbled when I was halfway up and barely got my balance back before I fell down the stairs.

  When I reached the top floor I saw two apartments opening off the landing. The door of one of them had been kicked down, splintered really. From the look of it, it had been a sturdy door. I stepped through the opening and found myself in the main room of an apartment. A door on the opposite wall led to what looked like a smaller room, which I assumed was a bedroom.

  I saw no indication of a place where Aristeas could have been strung up and slaughtered—no hook or hooks in the ceiling, no beam over which a rope could be thrown. I decided to check the other room, although I expected it to be empty as well.

  I paused in the doorway to study a large gray mass in the far corner. I took a step toward it but froze when a head raised out of the mass, and I realized I was looking at Daphne, huddled up as though cold or sick.

  Her white face was truly ghastly as she snarled at me, “Gaius Pliny, go away while you still can.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “I’m dying.”

  “Dying? Why do you think you’re dying?”

  “I need blood to drink.”

  “Aristeas’ blood?”

  She nodded. I instinctively moved toward her, but she held her hands up in front of her face.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “This can’t be true.”

  “Why not? Because you don’t want it to be?”

  “No, because there is no such thing as an empusa.”

  She bared her teeth at me. “How can you say that when you’re standing in front of one?”

  “I’m standing in front of a young woman who has been told all her life that she was a monster because of her skin. You finally began to tell yourself that, and to believe it. Aristotle says we become good by acting like we’re good, whether we are or not. You made yourself into a monster by telling yourself you were one, but you’re not.”

  Daphne waved her arm at me, billowing her gray cloak. “But you saw the bat, the one that was wounded. And you saw the wound on my shoulder, in the same place as the bat.”

  The plaintive note in her voice told me I was close to the truth. I had been thinking about what Chloris said and how it might be true of Daphne in a perverse way. I hadn’t expected to encounter her so soon, so I had to improvise what I wanted to say.

  “I think you saw the bat injured and you injured yourself. If you can convince other people to believe in the myth of the empusa, you can convince yourself.”

  Her head sagged. Then she recovered and forced it back up. “Tell me why the bat was here, just when I got here. Explain that!”

  I sighed, dreading the words that were about to come out of my mouth. “Coincidence. I think you’ve been playing on coincidences all your life. Or maybe opportunities is a better word. Something nefarious happens—an animal gets killed, perhaps a child dies in its sleep—and because you’re there and people already suspect you of being some sort of monster, you take advantage of the opportunity to heighten their fear by claiming—or not denying—that you’re responsible. It gives you power.”

  “It makes them leave me alone,” she muttered. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  I took a small step toward her and she did not protest. “Are you hurt? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “The wound in my shoulder. It burns. And it’s spreading. I can feel it. Tell me where Aristeas’ blood is.”

  “I don’t know. I thought it might be here.”

  “It’s not. This is where he was killed—in one of the shops downstairs—there are blood stains on the floor. They took it all away.” She ran her tongue over her dry, cracking lips. “I couldn’t stand to look at the place, so I came up here.”

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  “No, do you?”

  “I think I do, but I don’t know how to prove it.”

  “Why do you have to prove it?”

  “Because that’s how humans conduct their affairs in a just society.”

  She gave a chortle mixed with a growl. “Awful waste of time. If a man’s guilty, then punish him.”

  “Is that how an empusa would do things?”

  “What do you think happened to the man who tried to kill you that morning in the boat? He was sent here by someone named Regulus, by the way. He told me that much.”

  “Before you clawed his face off?”

  “Of course, before. He didn’t have much to say afterwards, just a sort of gurgling noise.”

  I knelt in front of her, as though I was talking to a child. “You didn’t kill him, did you? You found him after some animal mauled him.”

  She slumped against the wall and turned her face away from me, powerless against my lack of fear. “It was a bear. I went up there to see if I could find out anything about who threw the rock, and I saw the bear leaving. It had blood on its mouth. The man had gotten too close to its cub.”

  “And so you threw him over the cliff.”

  “After he said something about Regulus. At least I think it was Regulus. There was so little of his face left, it was hard to understand him.”

  “Why did you care who threw the rock?”

  “Because you’ve been kind to me. You’re the only person who ever was, besides Aristeas.”

  Now we were ready to get to the heart of the story. “Who was Aristeas to you?”

  “The dearest friend—the only friend—I’ve ever had. He lived on the street behind us. He was a simple man, hardly more than a child in many ways. He saw me one night when I was nine, but he wasn’t afraid of me, nor I of him. I knew, even at that age, that he did not have his full mind, and I tried to take care of him. But I couldn’t even get him to wear sandals. Of course, if I wore them, he might have.”

  “He wasn’t your father?”

  “No. I’m sorry I had to lie about that, but people never understood what we meant to one another. He might as well have been my father. My family did little more than feed me. His family barely cared anything for him. He had his music and they were content to let him come and go as he pleased. Sometimes he would stay out for days at a time.

  “When I read about Aristeas in Herodotus, I told him and we pretended that he was Aristeas. He didn’t really understand time anyway, so he began to talk as though he had lived for hundreds of years.”

  “What about the raven’s head mark on his chest?”

  “I cannot explain that, except as a coincidence. It was there when I met him. He showed it to me and showed me his raven-shaped plectron. When I read about the raven in Herodotus and about the laurel, the daphne, I think we both began to believe in one another. We even talked about going to Metapo
ntum to see the statue Herodotus mentions.”

  “How did he learn to fall into that death-like sleep?”

  She shook her head. “He could do it before I met him. The first time it happened, I thought he was dead. I cried and cried. But then he woke up. I learned that it might happen at any time, and it could last for any length of time. I just knew I had to stay with him when it did.”

  “You got him out of the stable, didn’t you?”

  Daphne nodded as lightning flashed outside.

  I was relieved to see the gesture. “I knew Tacitus’ explanation was too facile, especially the way it depended on the guard conveniently stepping away for a few moments at just the right time. What did happen to the guard?”

  “He was so scared when I appeared that he actually passed out. As you know, I can approach people very quietly. In the dark I can be terrifying. I’ve made men soil themselves. I’ve learned how to make that high-pitched sound that bats make.” She let out a note that made me cover my ears. “I climbed up on the paddock wall and dropped down in front of him.”

  “Like a bat.”

  “A very large bat.” She chuckled. “I knew he would never tell anyone what he’d seen because no one would believe him. He didn’t believe it himself. And he couldn’t admit he passed out from sheer fright. It was easier to stick to his story that nothing happened.”

  “Where did you put the body? Why didn’t you and Aristeas just disappear?”

  She grabbed at her shoulder and winced. “I’d been following them for almost three years. That part of the story is true. I was tired of it. I knew Apollodoros was coming and I wanted to get him away from Aristeas once and for all. I thought you could help me do that, if I could expose Apollodoros for the fraud he is. I left Aristeas in my room in the inn at Laurentum.”

  “You carried him all that way?”

  “My strength would surprise you, Gaius Pliny. Yes, I carried him, stopping to rest on the way, but I left him there alone. That was my mistake. I should have stayed with him, like I had always done before.”

  “Somebody moved him while he was unconscious?”

  “They must have. But I don’t know how they got him out of there with people around. I had to come in the back door in the middle of the night, carrying him upright like he was drunk, in case anybody saw us. Luckily, nobody did.”

  But, I thought, they didn’t have to get him out right away. They could have just moved him to another room. “Did Aristeas ever say anything about … where he was during those times when he, let’s say, wasn’t in his body?” I couldn’t find any other words to describe it.

  “He just said he could never make me understand what he saw and felt.”

  “So you took care of one another, but you didn’t drink his blood?”

  “Why on earth would I do that? I tried to make people think I did, but—”

  “That’s why you dipped your finger in the pig’s blood.”

  She nodded and smiled faintly. “And I almost vomited when I licked it off my finger. But it planted a thought in your mind, didn’t it?”

  “It certainly did. When did Apollodoros meet Aristeas?”

  “Five years ago. And my world fell apart. They met in the bath. That was one place where I could not go with Aristeas. I worried every time he went in there that someone would take advantage of him. And Apollodoros did. He filled his head with stories about musical contests and prizes. I guess Aristeas told him about being the man from Herodotus, to impress him. I told him, over and over, not to tell that story to anybody else because they wouldn’t understand the way I did. That was supposed to be our story, our little game. But he was too simple. He trusted everybody.”

  “So Apollodoros came up with the scheme to sell Aristeas’ blood as an elixir for long life, if not immortality.”

  Daphne nodded. “The blood Apollodoros has been selling doesn’t come from Aristeas, of course, but from animals they catch and kill.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  “Now, Gaius Pliny, I’ve told you all you want to know. Will you do the same for me?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who killed Aristeas?” She grabbed my tunic and I was surprised—even a bit frightened—at the strength of her grip.

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “I’ve never killed anybody. But I have a right to know who killed Aristeas.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect him in the end.”

  “What protection is there against human greed? Now, for the last time, who killed Aristeas?”

  “I believe it was Licinius Strabo. And I believe he killed Licinius Macer fifteen years ago, in the same manner.”

  “Strabo, eh? I should have finished him out there on the road.” Her eyes widened and she began to gather herself.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When I knocked him off his horse for you.”

  “But you’re not—”

  As a bolt of lightning cracked, she pushed me away, her eyes almost glowing with excitement. “And now you must leave, Gaius Pliny.” Her voice took on a new strength.

  I fell to the filthy floor. “You said you wouldn’t kill him.”

  “I said I’ve never killed anybody. There’s always a first time.”

  The pile of rags came to life as Daphne rose, opened her cloak, and spread her arms, like a bat. She stepped onto the window sill and pushed open the broken shutter.

  “No! Wait!” I called, but she was gone. I ran out the door and started down the stairs. My feet slipped from under me on the second step.

  XVIII

  When I opened my eyes I was lying on a bed. Myrrha and Chloris stood over me on one side and Tacitus on the other. I could guess I was in the rooms where the women used to live. I wondered why Tacitus was there.

  “What are you doing here? I sent a message for you not to come.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” he said. “When I heard you were staying up here by yourself, I figured you’d get in over your head—your badly bruised head, I should say.”

  I reached up and touched what now seemed to be several sore spots on my head.

  “You took quite a tumble, sir,” Chloris said. “Those stairs are really slippery.” She took a cold cloth off my head, kissed me lightly, and replaced the cloth with another. It felt good. It all felt good. “Fortunately you won’t need any more sewing up.”

  I tried to sit up, but Chloris held me down. “You need to be still, sir. You were babbling all sorts of things when we found you. You weren’t making any sense at all.”

  “I need to talk to Tacitus. Will you ladies excuse us?”

  Myrrha and Chloris looked at me dubiously. “Just be sure he don’t try to get up, sir,” Myrrha told Tacitus.

  Getting up was the first thing I tried to do as soon as they were out of sight. Tacitus put a hand on my shoulder. “Take it easy. The women are right. You really have been injured. You’re lucky you didn’t break any bones in that fall.”

  I pushed his hand away and started to sit up. I got my feet over the edge of the bed, but dizziness forced me to stop at that point. I was also aware now of how many places in my body ached. There was a particularly sharp pain in my ribs. “We’ve got to warn Strabo.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m trying to remember.”

  “Myrrha and Chloris said you were mumbling about Strabo and the empusa when they found you.”

  “Yes! That’s it. Daphne—she thinks she really is an empusa. Or maybe she really is. I don’t know right now. But she’s going to kill Strabo because he killed Aristeas. We’ve got to stop her.”

  “Wait. Did you say Daphne is the empusa? There is no such thing as an empusa. That‘s what you’ve said all along. Why are you talking such nonsense now?”

  “Because I saw her in that room upstairs. I talked to her.”

  “You couldn’t have, Gaius Pliny. Daphne has been in your house all day.”

  “Has anyb
ody actually seen her?”

  “Well, I don’t know. She didn’t come down for lunch.”

  “Because she was in that room, upstairs!” I waved one arm in the direction of the old apartment building and cradled my head with the other. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “You’re not supposed to get up. Take it easy.”

  “I will not take it easy. I told her Strabo killed Aristeas and now she’s going to kill Strabo.”

  “You don’t know that Strabo killed Aristeas. Livilla’s letter said he killed Macer.”

  “If he killed one, he killed both.”

  “But why?”

  “Stop arguing with me and help me get to that room.”

  Leaning on Tacitus, I was able to cross the courtyard and show him how to get upstairs in the deserted apartment building. The stairs were so slippery by now that we practically had to crawl up.

  “The steps going from my terrace down to the beach aren’t this bad, even after a heavy rain,” I said as we slid through the slime. I hated to put my hands on the walls to brace myself because they had a dark mold growing on them.

  “This place will probably just fall down in a few more years,” Tacitus said.

  “It’s there, where the door’s been kicked in,” I said when we got to the upper floor. “In the back room.”

  I hobbled into the back room where I had seen Daphne. There was still very little light. Tacitus checked out the shutter, hanging now from one hinge, and walked over to a pile of dirty, discarded clothing in the corner.

  “That knock on the head has you seeing things, my friend,” Tacitus said, scattering the pile with his foot.

  “But I saw her, I tell you! I talked to her. I really did.”

  “The way your head has been bounced around, can you be sure of anything?”

  “That white face … She changed into a bat, I think, and flew out that window … or did she jump?”