Last Act In Palmyra

by Lindsey Davis

  The three of us had ridden here on hastily collected donkeys, We had had to cross the whole city northwards, cursing as we were held up twice where the main street, the Decumanus, hit major crossroads; needless to say, both junctions had been undergoing road maintenance, as well as being packed with the usual aimless crush of beggars and sightseers. Emerging through the North Gate, we followed a much less frantic processional road along a fertile valley, coming through prosperous suburban villas that nestled peacefully amongst the trees on rolling hill slopes. It was cool and quiet. We passed a temple lying deserted for the night.

  By now it was growing too dark to see our way easily. But when we emerged through an archway at the sacred pools we found lamps hung like glow-worms in the trees and bitumen torches screwed into the earth. Somebody must attend the site, though nobody was visible.

  Helena and I had ridden one donkey, so I could hold her close. She had told me more about what happened, while I tried not to rage at her for taking risks.

  ‘Marcus, you know we needed to speak to Ione about her hints regarding Heliodorus.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with that.’

  ‘I managed to have a word with her, and arranged to talk privately at the pools.’

  ‘What was this for - a promiscuous skinny-dip?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Several of us were coming, just to see the site. We heard that people bathe here normally outside the festival.’

  ‘I bet!’

  ‘Marcus, just listen! The arrangements were fairly flexible, because we all had other things to do first. I wanted to tidy our tent -‘

  ‘That’s good. Nice girls always do their housework before they slip off to a rude festival. Decent mothers tell their daughters, don’t be dunked until you’ve done the floors!’

  ‘Please stop ranting.’

  ‘Don’t alarm me then!’

  I have to admit I was disturbed by the thought of my girl going near a lewd cult. No one would ever suborn Helena easily, but any informer of standing has been asked by distraught relations to try rescuing supposedly sensible acolytes from the clutches of peculiar religions. I knew too much about the blank-eyed smiles of brainwashed little rich girls. I was determined that my lass would never be sucked into any dirty festival. In Syria, where the cults involved women ecstatically castrating men then hurling the bits around, I felt uneasiest of all about exotic shrines.

  I found myself gripping Helena’s arm so tightly I must be bruising her; angrily I released my hold and buffed up her skin. ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘I would have done!’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘You were nowhere around to be told.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I bit my lip, annoyed with myself for staying out so long with Musa.

  A girl was dead; our feelings were unimportant. Brushing off the quarrel, Helena continued her story. ‘To be honest, it seemed best not to rush. Ione gave the impression she had an assignation.’

  ‘With a man?’

  ‘So I presumed. She only said, “I’ll go ahead. I’ve some fun fixed up…” The plan was for me to meet her at the pools ahead of the others, but I didn’t hurry because I was nervous about interrupting her fun. I hate myself now; it made me too late to help her.’

  ‘Who else was going?’

  ‘Byrria. Afrania had shown interest, but I was not sure she meant to turn up.’

  ‘All women?’

  Helena looked cool. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why did you have to go at night?’

  ‘Oh don’t be silly! It wasn’t dark then.’

  I tried to stay calm. ‘When you got to the pools Ione was in the water?’

  ‘I noticed her clothes beside the pool. As soon as I saw her lying still, I knew.’

  ‘Oh love! I should have been with you. What did you do?’

  ‘No one else was about. There are steps at the edge for drawing water. She was there in the shallow water on the ledges. That was how I saw her. It helped me drag her out by myself; I don’t think I could have managed otherwise. It was hard even so, but I was very angry. I remembered how you tried to revive Heliodorus. I don’t know if I did it properly, but it didn’t work - ‘

  I hushed her soothingly. ‘You didn’t fail her. You tried. Probably she was already dead. Tell me the rest.’

  ‘I looked nearby for evidence, then suddenly I became frightened in case whoever killed Ione was still there. There are fir trees all around the site. I seemed to feel someone watching me -I ran for help. On the way back to the city I met Byrria coming to join us.’

  I was surprised. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She went to the pools. She said she was not afraid of any murderer. She said Ione should have a friend guarding her.’

  ‘Let’s hurry then…’

  Not long after that we were among the same fir trees that had made Helena feel threatened. We rode under the arch and reached the pools, dimly lit and resonant with the frenzied croaking of the frogs.

  There was a large rectangular reservoir, so large it must be used to supply the city. It was divided into two by a retaining wall that formed a sluice. On the long sidesteps led down into the water, which looked deep.

  At the far end we could hear people cavorting, not all of them women. Like the frogs, they were ignoring the tragic tableau, too lost in their private riot even to be curious. Ione’s body lay at the edge of the water. A kneeling figure kept guard alongside: Byrria, with a face that said she was blaming a man for this. She rose at our approach, then she and Helena embraced in tears.

  Musa and I walked quietly to the dead girl. Beneath a white covering which I recognised as Helena’s stole, Ione lay on her back. Apart from a heavy necklace, she was naked. Musa gasped. He drew back, shamed by the blatant bare flesh. I fetched a lamp for a close look.

  She had been beautiful. As beautiful as a woman could wish to be, or a man yearn to possess.

  ‘Oh cover her!’ Musa’s voice was rough.

  I was angry too, but losing my temper would be no help to anyone. ‘I mean the woman no disrespect.’

  I made my decisions, then covered her again and stood.

  The priest turned away. I stared at the water. I had forgotten he was not my friend Petronius Longus, the Roman watch captain with whom I had surveyed so many corpses destroyed by violence. Male or female made no difference. Stripped, clad, or merely rumpled, what you saw was the pointlessness of it. That, and if you were lucky, clues to the criminal.

  Still appalled but controlling it, Musa faced me again. ‘So what did you find, Falco?’

  ‘Some things I don’t find, Musa.’ I talked quietly while I thought. ‘Heliodorus had been beaten to overpower him; Ione shows no similar marks.’ I glanced quickly around the spot where we stood. ‘Nothing here implies the taking of drink, either.’

  Accepting my motives, he had calmed down. ‘It means?’

  ‘If it was the same man, he is from our company and she knew him. So did Heliodorus. But unlike him, Ione was quite off her guard. Her killer had no need to surprise or subdue her. He was a friend of hers - or more than a friend.’

  ‘If her killer was the person she had been prepared to name to you, it was rash to arrange to meet him just before she spoke of it to Helena.’

  ‘Yes. But an element of danger appeals to some -‘

  ‘Marcus!’

  Helena herself suddenly said my name in a low voice. A reveller with a conscience may after all have reported a disturbance. We were being joined by one of the sanctuary servants. My heart sank, expecting inconvenience.

  He was an elderly attendant in a long striped shirt and several days’ growth of whiskers. In one dirty claw he carried an oil flagon so he could pretend to replenish lamps. He had arrived silently in thonged slippers, and I knew straight away his chief pleasure in life was creeping about among the fir trees, spying on women frolicking.

  When he shuffled into our circle both Musa and I squared up defensively. He whipped aside the stole and had a good look at Ione anyway
. ‘Another accident!’ he commented in Greek that would have sounded low-class even on the Piraeus waterfront. Musa said something curt in Arabic. The curator’s home language would be Aramaic, but he would have understood Musa’s contemptuous tone.

  ‘Do you suffer many deaths in this place?’ My own voice sounded haughty, even to me. I could have been some stiff-necked tribune on foreign service letting the locals know how much he despised them.

  ‘Too much excitement!’ cackled the lecherous old water flea. It was obvious he thought there had been dangerous fornication, and he assumed Musa and I, Helena and Byrria, were all part of it. I ceased to regret sounding arrogant. Wherever they are in the world, some types cry out to be despised.

  ‘And what is the procedure?’ I asked, as patiently as I could manage.

  ‘Procedure?’

  “What do we do with the body?’

  He sounded surprised: ‘If the girl is a friend of yours, take her away and bury her.’

  I should have realised. Finding a girl’s naked corpse at the site of a promiscuous festival at the end of the Empire is not like finding a corpse in the well-policed city sectors of Rome.

  For a second I was on the verge of demanding an official enquiry. I was so angry, I actually wanted the watch, the local magistrate, an advertisement scrawled in the forum asking witnesses to come forward, our own party to be detained pending the investigation, and a full case in court in half a year’s time… Sense prevailed.

  I drew the greasy curator to one side, palming across as much small change as I could bear.

  ‘We’ll take her,’ I promised. ‘Just tell me, did you see what happened?’

  ‘Oh no!’ He was lying. There was absolutely no doubt about it. And I knew that with all the barriers of language and culture between Rome and this grubby pleasure ground, I would never be able to nail his lies. For a moment I felt overwhelmed. I ought to go home to my own streets. Here, I was no use to anyone.

  Musa appeared at my shoulder. He spoke out in his deepest, most sonorous voice. There was no threat, simply a clean-cut authority: Dushara, the grim mountain-god, had entered this place.

  They exchanged a few sentences in Aramaic, then the man with the oil flagon slithered away into the trees. He was heading for the noises at the far end of the reservoir. The merrymakers’ lamps looked bright enough, but he had his own unsavoury business there.

  Musa and I stood. The night’s darkness seemed to be growing and as it did the sanctuary felt colder and ever more sordid. The frogs’ chorus sounded harsher. At my feet were the ceaseless, restlessly lapping waters of the reservoir. Midges swarmed in my face.

  ‘Thanks, friend! Did you get the tale?’

  Musa reported grimly: ‘He sweeps up leaves and fir-cones, and is supposed to keep order. He says Ione came alone, then a man joined her. This fool could not describe the man. He was watching the girl.’

  ‘How did you get him to talk?’

  ‘I said you were angry and would cause trouble, then he would be blamed for the accident.’

  ‘Musa! Where did you learn to bully a witness?’

  ‘Watching you.’ It was gently said. Even in a situation like this, Musa sustained his teasing streak.

  ‘Lay off! My methods are ethical. So what else did you screw out of the poolside peeper?’

  ‘Ione and the man were acting as lovers, in the water. During their passion the girl seemed to be in trouble, struggling towards the step; then she stopped moving. The man climbed out, looked around quickly, and vanished into the trees. The unpleasant one thought he had run for help.

  ‘The unpleasant one did not offer such help?’

  ‘No.’ Musa’s voice was equally dry. ‘Then Helena arrived and discovered the accident.’

  ‘So it was this gruesome brushman whom Helena sensed was watching her… Musa, Ione’s death was no accident.’

  ‘Proven, Falco?’

  ‘If you are willing to look.’

  I knelt beside the dead girl one final time, drawing back the cover just as far as necessary. The girl’s face was darkly discoloured. I showed Musa where the beaded chains of her necklace seemed to have dragged at her throat, leaving indented marks. Some pairs of the heavy stone beads were still trapping tiny folds of skin. Trickles of kohl and whatever other paint she used disfigured her face. Beneath the necklace burns and charcoal smears, numerous small red flecks showed on her flesh. ‘This is why I examined her so closely earlier. The necklace may simply have dragged at her throat as she thrashed in the water, but I think it shows pressure from a man’s hands. The tiny red clusters are what appear on the corpse of somebody who has died in particular circumstances.’

  ‘Drowning?’

  ‘No. Her face would be pale. Ione was strangled,’ I said.

  Chapter XXXI

  The rest of that night, and the following day, passed in various struggles that left us exhausted. We wrapped the corpse as best we could. Helena and Byrria then rode together on one animal. Musa and I had to walk, one either side of the donkey that was carrying Ione. Keeping the poor soul decent, and firmly across the donkey’s back, was tricky. In the hot climate her corpse was already stiffening fast. On my own, I would have strapped her methodically and disguised her as a bale of straw. In company I was expected to behave with reverence.

  We stole lamps from the sanctuary to light our way but even before the end of the processional road we knew it would be impossible to recross the entire city with our burden. I have done flamboyant things in my time, but I could not take a dead girl, her hennaed hair still dripping and her bare arms outflung to the dust, down a packed main street while merchants and local inhabitants were all out strolling and looking for somebody else in an interesting predicament to gawp at. The crowds here were the type to form a jostling procession and follow us.

  We were saved by the temple outside the city gate which we had passed earlier. Priests had turned up for night duty. Musa appealed to them as a fellow professional with colleagues at the Temple of Dionysus-Dushara, and they agreed to let the body rest in their care until the next day.

  Ironically, the place where we left lone was the Temple of Nemesis.

  Unencumbered, we were able to travel more quickly. I was now riding with Helena side-saddle in front of me again. Byrria had consented to go with Musa. They both looked embarrassed about it as he sat extremely upright on his shaggy beast while she perched behind him, barely willing to hold on to his belt.

  Squeezing back through the town was an experience I would have paid a lot to miss. We reached our camp in darkness, though the streets were still busy. Merchants play hard and late. Grumio was still standing on his barrel. With nightfall the humour had grown more obscene and he was slightly hoarse but gamely calling out endless cries of ‘Anyone here from Damascus or Dium?’

  We signalled to him. He sent around his collection cap one last time, then knotted the top on the money and joined us; we told him the news. Visibly shocked, he wandered off to tell the rest. In an ideal world I ought to have gone with him to observe their reactions, but in an ideal world heroes never get tired or depressed; what’s more, heroes are paid more than, me - in nectar and ambrosia, willing virgins, golden apples, golden fleeces, and fame.

  I was worried about Byrria. She had hardly spoken since we found her at the sacred pools. Despite her original bravery, she now looked chilled, horrified and deeply shocked. Musa said he would escort her safely to her tent; I advised him to try and find one of the other women to stay with her that night.

  Not being entirely hopeless, I did have something urgent to attend to. Once I had seen Helena back to our own quarters, I forayed among the orchestra girls to try and learn who Ione’s fatal lover was. It was a hopeless quest. Afrania and a couple of other dancers were easy to find from the noise. They were expressing their relief that it was Ione who had ended in trouble and not themselves. Their hysterical wailing only varied as they opted to shriek with feigned terror when I, a man, who might be slightly dan
gerous, tried to talk to them. I mentioned the well-known medical cure for hysteria, saying that it would be smacks all round if they didn’t stop screaming, so then one of the panpipe-players jumped up and offered to ram me in the guts with a cart axle.

  It seemed best to retire.

  Back at my tent, another crisis: Musa had failed to reappear. I had a look round, but apart from the distant rumpus from the orchestra (and even the girls were tiring), the whole camp now lay quiet. A light shone dimly in Byrria’s tent, but the side flaps were rolled firmly down. Neither Helena nor I could imagine that Musa had managed close relations with Byrria, but neither of us wanted to look stupid by interrupting if he had. Both Helena and I lay awake worrying about him most of the night.

  ‘He’s a grown man,’ I muttered.

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about!’ she said.

  He didn’t come back until morning. Even then he looked perfectly normal and made no attempt to explain himself.

  ‘Well!’ I scoffed when Helena went outside to tend the fire and we were free to indulge in men’s talk. ‘Couldn’t find a woman to sit up with her?’

  ‘No, Falco.’

  ‘Sat up with her yourself then?’ This time he made no answer to my dig. He was definitely not going to tell me the story. Well that made him fair game for ribbing. ‘Jupiter! This doesn’t look like a fellow who spent all last night consoling a beautiful young woman.’

  ‘What should such a man look like?’ he challenged quietly.

  ‘Exhausted, sunshine! No, I’m teasing. I assume if you had asked her, the famously chaste Byrria would have pitched you out into the night.’

  ‘Very probably,’ said Musa. ‘Best not to ask.’ You could take that two ways. A woman who was used to being asked might find reticence strangely alluring.

  ‘Do I gather Byrria was so impressed, that she asked you? Sounds a good plan!’

  ‘Oh yes,’ agreed Musa, smiling at last like a normal male. ‘It’s a good plan, Falco!’ Only in theory, apparently.

  ‘Excuse me, Musa, but you seem to lead your life in the wrong order. Most men would seduce the beauty and then get shoved off an embankment by a jealous rival. You get the painful part over with first!’