Steven Saylor - Arms of Nemesis

'Who are you looking for?' asked Meto.

'Iaia and her assistant Olympias.'

'The painter lady left already,' he said. 'Right after the philosopher started having his fit.' 'Left the room?'

'Left the house, for her own house at Cumae. I know, because she sent me to the stables to see that their horses were ready.'

'Too bad,' I said. 'I should very much like to talk with her.'

Meto led us farther up the hall and around a corner. 'Here it is,' he said, indicating the door to Dionysius's rooms.

The apartment consisted of two small rooms separated by a hanging curtain. In the outer room a round table was surrounded by chairs, set beside a window that faced the low wooded hills on the west. A clay urn was set atop a small table in one corner. When I lifted the lid I smelled the mingled scents of rue, silphium, and garlic. 'Dionysius's concoction. Poisoned or not, it should all be burned or emptied into the bay to be sure it harms no one else.'

The inner room, furnished with a Stoic's austerity, contained only a sleeping couch, a hanging lamp, and a large trunk.

'Not much to see,' I remarked to Eco, 'unless something has been hidden out of sight.' I started to open the trunk and found that it was clasped shut with a lock that required a key. 'We could break it open, I suppose. I doubt that Crassus would object, and we can ask the shade of Dionysius to forgive us. Indeed, it looks to me as if someone has already tried to force it open, and failed. See the scratches, and this scarred strip of metal, Eco? We shall need a strong, slender bar of steel to pry it open.'

'Why not use the key?' suggested Meto.

'Because we don't have it,' I said.

Meto smiled mischievously, then flattened himself on the floor, wriggled under the couch and emerged clutching a simple brass key in his tiny fist.

I threw up my hands. 'Meto, you are invaluable! Every household needs a slave like you.' He grinned and hovered over me as I stopped to fit the key into the lock. 'Indeed, Meto, I think you will grow up to be like those slaves in Plautus's plays, the ones who always know what's going on when their masters are too stupid or love-struck to see the truth.' Whoever had tried to force the lid had jammed the lock as well, so that I had to jiggle the key. 'Plautus's clever slaves always come in for a chiding from their jealous masters, but the world could never manage without them. Ah — there, it's open! What treasures did the philosopher find so valuable that he locked them safely away, I wonder?'

I pushed the lid up. Eco sucked in a breath. Meto started back.

'Blood!' he whispered.

'Yes,' I agreed, 'most assuredly, blood.' Atop the other scrolls that had been unrolled and laid flat within the trunk was a strip of parchment covered with tiny, crabbed writing, over which had been cast a great, spattered stain of blood.

'The missing documents?' I asked.

Back in the library, Crassus pored over the flattened sheets one by one. Finally he nodded. 'Yes, there are the records I was searching for, together with others I had no idea existed, full of all sorts of irregularities and cryptic references — expenditures and amounts received, itemized in some sort of secret code. I shall have to take them back to Rome with me after the funeral games. There's no way to make sense of it all without considerable time and study; perhaps my chief accountant can decode them.'

'I saw that the notation "A Friend" recurs several times, always connected to a sum of money, often a rather large sum. You don't suppose that could be a record of investments and disbursements relating to Lucius's silent partner?'

Crassus gave me a disgrunded look. 'What I really want to know is what these documents were doing in Dionysius's room.'

'I have a theory,' I said.

'I'm sure you do.'

'We know that Dionysius wanted to solve Lucius's murder, if only to impress you with his cleverness. Suppose he was ahead of us when it came to noticing the bloodstains on the statue that was used to kill Lucius, and had already concluded, even before I arrived, that Lucius was murdered in this room. Suppose also that he had some inkling of Lucius's shady dealings; after all, he lived in the house and might very well have noticed the flow of silver and arms, no matter how secretive Lucius might have been.' Crassus nodded. 'Go on.'

'Knowing these things, he must have purloined these documents himself, before you had a chance to find them, taking them from this room to his own where he could peruse them in secret and search for clues to the murderer's identity.'

'Perhaps. But how do you account for this?' He pointed to the bloodstained scroll.

'Lucius must have been looking at it when he was killed. It must have been open, here on this table.'

'And the murderer, who was so careful to drag Lucius's body into the atrium, left this document for Dionysius to find the next time he came into the library? It seems to me that the killer would have destroyed it rather than leave it for Dionysius to ferret away. This would indicate that the document has nothing to do with the murder.'

Crassus stared at me grimly, then slowly smiled when he saw that I had no answer. He shook his head and laughed softly. 'I will say this, Gordianus — you are tenacious! If it makes you feel better, I'll admit that I myself am not entirely satisfied with what we know of the circumstances surrounding Lucius's death. It does appear, from the evidence you found in the water and from these documents, that my dear, foolish, accursed cousin was involved in smuggling weapons to someone — yes, perhaps even to Spartacus. But that only weakens your case and strengthens mine.'

'I don't see it that way, Marcus Crassus.'

'Don't you? When word arrived that I was coming on short notice, Lucius panicked and tried to sever his contacts with the representatives of Spartacus, the customers who bought his stockpile of weapons. Seeing they would get no more out of Lucius, they set about taking their revenge on him. Who could these criminals, these agents of Spartacus, have been? Who else but Zeno and the Thracian Alexandros, who were nothing less than Spartacan spies in this household. Yes, I see it quite clearly now — hear me out, Gordianus!

'They confronted Lucius here in the library, in the dead of night. Zeno, who helped keep his master's books, produced these various documents exposing Lucius's perfidy, and threatened to betray him to me if he didn't continue to smuggle arms to Spartacus. But even blackmail would not sway Lucius; he had decided to sever his ties with the Spartacans, and he would not be intimidated. So Zeno and Alexandros murdered him, using the statue, just as you said. To make his death more public, they dragged his body into the atrium and began to scrape out the name of their master, Spartacus.

'Ah, but Dionysius was up late that night, mulling over whatever it is that second-rate philosophers mull over in the middle of the night. There was some scroll or other that he needed to fetch from Lucius's library. He must have made a noise, which disturbed the assassins and sent them flying, before they could finish carving the full name of their master. Dionysius enters the library and sees the bloody scroll. He goes into the atrium and finds the body. But instead of raising an alarm, he concocts a scheme to further his own career. He knows that I'll be arriving the next day; without Lucius, he has no patron, but if he could somehow attach himself to me, all would be to his benefit. He thinks he can impress me by providing a solution to the murder. He studies the bloodstained document, comprehends its import, and looks through the other scrolls for similarly incriminating evidence. He takes them all back to his room to decipher and piece together at his leisure.'

'But why didn't he tell you these things sooner?' I protested.