The Mammoth Book of Classical Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley

  ‘This is a kidnapping, Gordianus, not a chase. I’ll pay you well. Bring Dianara back to me, and I shall reward you handsomely.’

  I considered. My commission from Gaius Claudius was completed. I had verified young Mamercus’ whereabouts, delivered the letter, and given him every chance to accompany me back to Rome. I was a free agent again, in a foreign land, and a powerful man was seeking my help.

  On the other hand, to aid a renegade general in the field would surely, in the view of the Roman Senate, constitute an act of treason . . .

  I liked Sertorius, because he was honest, and brave, and in the long run, the underdog. I liked him even better when he named an actual figure as a reward.

  I agreed. If I could not return an errant young man to his grandfather, perhaps I could return a missing fawn to her master.

  Sertorius allowed me to question the two guards who had been drugged. I could only agree with his own assessment, that the men were truly remorseful for what had happened and that they had nothing useful to tell. Neither did any of the other watchmen; no one had seen or heard a thing. It was as if the moon herself had reached down to fetch the white fawn home.

  By the time that Eco and I arrived back in Sucro that afternoon, the tavern was full of locals, all thirsty for wine and hungry for any news they could get of the missing white fawn. The secret was out, and rumors were flying wild. I listened attentively; one never knows when a bit of gossip may be helpful. Some said that the fawn had actually deserted Sertorius long ago (this was patently false, since I had seen the creature myself). Others claimed that the fawn had died, and that Sertorius had buried it and was only pretending that it had disappeared. A few said that the fawn had been stolen, but no one reported the death of the virgin. Perhaps the wildest rumor (and the most ominous) asserted that the fawn had showed up in Pompey’s camp, and was now his confidant.

  None of this very helpful. After the local crowd dispersed to their homes for the night, I asked our host what he made of it all.

  ‘Not a one of them knows a blasted thing! All a bunch of windbags.’ Lacro said this cheerily enough, and why not? He must have turned a nice profit on the sale of wine that day, and quite a few of the crowd had stayed on for dinner. ‘The only story that rang true to my ears was the one about the fawn being seen in the marshes.’

  ‘What’s this? I missed that one.’

  ‘That’s because the fellow who told it wasn’t shouting his head off like the fools who had nothing to say. He was here behind the counter, talking to me. An old friend of mine; we sometimes go trapping in the marshes together. He was there early this morning. Says he caught a glimpse of something white off in the distance, in a stand of swamp trees.’

  ‘Perhaps he saw a bird.’

  ‘Too big for a bird, he said, and it moved like a beast, from here to there along the ground.’

  ‘Did he get a closer look?’

  ‘He tried. But by the time he reached the trees, there was nothing to be seen – nothing except fresh hoof prints in the mud. The prints of a young deer, of that he was certain. And footprints, as well.’

  ‘Footprints?’

  ‘Two men, he said. One on each side of the fawn.’

  Eco gripped my arms and shook it. I agreed; this was very interesting. ‘Did your friend follow these tracks?’

  ‘No, he turned back and went about his business, checking his traps.’ Lacro raised an eyebrow. ‘He didn’t say as much, but from the look on his face, I think he felt afraid when he saw those tracks. This is a fellow who knows the marshes like his own mother’s face; knows what belongs there and what doesn’t, and if something’s not right. He saw those tracks and felt a kind of awe, standing where Diana’s gift had passed. Mark my words, that white fawn is in the marshes.’

  Eco nudged me and put his hands to his throat, miming strangulation. Lacro looked puzzled.

  I translated. ‘If your friend was afraid to follow those tracks, then his instincts probably are good.’ At least one person had already been murdered by the fawn’s abductors.

  ‘I don’t quite follow you.’

  I looked at him steadily. ‘Yesterday, you spoke well of Sertorius . . .’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And you spoke with reverence about the white fawn . . .’

  ‘Diana’s gift.’

  ‘Lacro, I want to tell you a secret. Something very important.’

  ‘So, what are you waiting for? Who can keep secrets better than an innkeeper?’ He hooked his thumb and gestured to the sleeping quarters upstairs, as if alluding to all the trysts which had taken place under his roof that would never be revealed by his telling.

  ‘And do you think this friend of yours could keep a secret, as well?’ I said. ‘And more importantly, do you think he might agree to guide a couple of strangers into the marshes? There’s likely to be some danger – but there’ll be a fee in it, too. A fee for you both . . .’

  Before daybreak the next morning, we set out for the marshes.

  Lacro and his friend, who was called Stilensis, led the way. Eco and I followed behind.

  We came to the stand of trees where Stilensis had seen the tracks. They were still visible in the mud, picked out sharply by the first slanting rays of sunlight. We followed them. In places where the ground was too hard or too soft, the trail seemed to vanish, at least to my eyes, but our experienced guides were able to discern even the faintest traces. Occasionally even they lost the trail, and when that happened they would patiently circle about until they found it again. Sometimes I could see how they did it, by spotting a broken twig or a crumpled leaf; at other times it seemed to me that they were guided by some hidden instinct, or simple luck. Perhaps Lacro would say that Diana showed them the way.

  They also seemed to sense, by some unknown faculty, the moment that we came within earshot of our prey. At the same moment, Lacro and Stilensis both turned and gestured for us to be utterly silent.

  As for the enemy, there were only two of them, as the tracks had indicated; but the tracks had also indicated, by their size and deepness, that the men making them were large fellows, with large shoes and heavy bodies. Fortunately for us, they were still asleep when we came upon them. They had no tent, and had made no fire. They slept on a bed of leaves, with light blankets to cover them.

  Lacro and Stilensis had brought their hunting bows. While they notched arrows and took aim, Eco and I yanked away the men’s blankets. They woke at once, scrambled to their feet, then froze when they saw the arrows aimed at them. They cursed in some native tongue.

  Lacro asked them what they had done with the white fawn. The men grumbled and pointed toward a thick patch of bushes.

  With, in a little clearing, Eco and I came upon the creature. She was tied to a small tree, asleep with her legs folded beneath her. At our approach she stirred and lifted her head. I expected her to scramble up and try to bolt away. Instead, she stared at us sleepily and blinked several times, then threw back her head and seemed to yawn. She slowly and methodically unfolded her limbs and got to her feet, then sauntered toward us and lifted her face to be nuzzled. Eco let out a gasp of delight as he stroked the back of his hand against the shimmering white fur beneath her eyes.

  We marched our prisoners through the marsh and then along the river road, with Eco leading the fawn by her leash, or as often as not being led by her. We stopped short of Sertorius’ camp, and while the others waited in a secluded spot by the river, I went to give the general the news.

  I arrived just in time. Only a single tent – the general’s – was still standing. The troops had already begun the westward march toward the highlands. Sertorius and his staff were busily packing wagons and seeing to the final details of disbanding the camp.

  Sertorius was the first to see me. He froze for an instant, then strode toward me. His face seemed to glow in the morning light. ‘It’s good news, isn’t it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Is she well?’

  ‘Yes.’

&n
bsp; ‘And the scoundrels who took her – did you capture them as well?’

  ‘Two men, both native Spaniards.’

  ‘I knew it! I woke up this morning with a feeling that something wonderful would happen. Where is she? Take me to her at once! No, wait.’ He turned and called to his staff. ‘Come along, all of you. Wonderful news! Come and see!’

  Among the officers I saw Mamercus, carrying a cabinet out of the general’s tent. ‘Put that down, Mamercus, and come see what the Finder has caught for us!’ shouted Sertorius. ‘Something white! And two black-hearted Spaniards with her!’

  Mamercus looked confused for a moment, then put down the cabinet. He nodded and stepped back into the tent.

  ‘Come, Gordianus. Take me to her at once!’ said Sertorius, pulling at my arm.

  On the banks of the Sucro, the general and his fawn were reunited. I don’t think I had ever seen a Roman general weep before. I certainly know that I had never seen one pick up a fawn and carry it about in his arms like a baby. For all his protestations that the white fawn was only a tool of statecraft, a cynical means of exploiting superstitions he did not share, I think that the creature meant much more than that to Sertorius. While she might not have whispered to him in the voice of Diana, or foretold the future, the white fawn was the visible sign of the gods’ favor, without which every man is naked before his enemies. What I saw on the banks of the Sucro was the exultation of a man whose luck had deserted him, and then had returned in the blink of an eye.

  But Sertorius was a Roman general, and not given to undue sentimentality, even about his own destiny. After a while he put down the fawn and turned to the two Spaniards we had captured. He spoke to them in their own dialect. Lacro whispered a translation in my ear.

  They had treated the fawn well, Sertorius said, and had not harmed her; that was wise, and showed a modicum of respect for the goddess. But they had flouted the dignity of a Roman general and had interfered with the will of the goddess; and a young virgin had been murdered. For that they would be punished.

  The two men comported themselves with considerable dignity, considering that they were likely to be slain on the spot. They conferred with each other for a moment, then one of them spoke. They were only hirelings, they explained. They knew nothing of a murdered girl. They had merely agreed to meet a man at the edge of the camp two nights ago. He had brought the fawn to them, wrapped in a blanket. They were to hide with the fawn in the marsh until Sertorius and his army were gone. They would never have harmed the creature, nor would they have harmed the girl who kept her.

  Sertorius told them that he had suspected as much, that one of his own men – indeed, someone on his own staff, with adequate knowledge of the general’s routine and the workings of the camp – must have been behind the kidnapping. If the two Spaniards were willing to point out this man, the severity of their own punishment might be considerably mitigated.

  The two men conferred again. They agreed.

  Sertorius stepped back and gestured to the members of his assembled staff. The two Spaniards looked from face to face, then shook their heads. The man was not among them.

  Sertorius frowned and surveyed his staff. He stiffened. I saw a flash of pain in his eyes. He sighed and turned to me. ‘One of my men isn’t here, Finder.’

  ‘Yes, I see. He must have stayed behind.’

  Sertorius ordered some of his men to stay and guard the fawn. The rest of us hurried back with him to the camp.

  ‘Look there! His horse is still here,’ said Sertorius.

  ‘Then he hasn’t fled,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he had no reason to flee. Perhaps he had nothing to do with the kidnapping –’

  But I knew this could not be the case, even as Eco and I followed Sertorius into his tent. Amid the clutter of folded cots and chairs, Mamercus lay quivering on the ground, transfixed on his own sword. His right hand still gripped the pommel. In his left hand, he clutched the virgin’s white scarf.

  He was still alive. We knelt beside him. He began to whisper. We bent our heads close. ‘I never meant to kill the girl,’ he said. ‘She was asleep, and should have stayed that way . . . from the drug . . . but she woke. I couldn’t let her scream. I meant to pull the scarf across her mouth . . . but then it was around her throat . . . and she wouldn’t stop struggling. She was stronger than you might think . . .’

  Sertorius shook his head. ‘But why, Mamercus? Why kidnap the fawn? You were my man!’

  ‘No, never,’ said Mamercus. ‘I was Pompey’s man! One of his agents in Rome hired me, to be Pompey’s spy. They said you would trust me . . . take me into your confidence . . . because of my father. They wanted someone to steal the white fawn from you. Not to kill it, just to steal it. You see, Gordianus, I never betrayed my grandfather. Tell him that.’

  ‘But why did you take up with Pompey?’ I said.

  He grimaced. ‘For money, of course! We were ruined. How could I ever have a career in Rome, without money? Pompey offered me more than enough.’

  I shook my head. ‘You should have come back to Rome with me.’

  Mamercus managed a rueful smile. ‘At first, I thought you were a messenger from Pompey. I couldn’t believe he could be so stupid, to send a messenger for me into the camp, in broad daylight! Then you said you came from my grandfather . . . dear, beloved grandfather. I suppose the gods were trying to tell me something, but it was too late. My plan was set for that very night. I couldn’t turn back.’ He coughed. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. ‘But I turned your visit to my advantage! I showed Sertorius the letter . . . vowed that I had no intention of leaving him . . . not even to please my grandfather! How could he not trust me after that? Sertorius, forgive me! But Gordianus –’

  He released his sword and blindly gripped my arm. With his other hand he still clutched the scarf. ‘Don’t tell grandfather about the girl! Tell him I was a spy, if you want. Tell him I died, doing my duty. Tell him I had the courage to fall on my own sword. But not about the girl . . .’

  His grip loosened. The light went out of his eyes. The scarf slipped from his fingers.

  I looked at Sertorius. On his face I saw anger, disappointment, grief, confusion. I realized that Mamercus Claudius, like the white fawn, had meant more to him than he would say. Mamercus had been a sort of talisman for him, in the way that a son is a talisman – a sign of the gods’ love, a pointer to a brighter future. But Mamercus had been none of those things, and the truth was hard for Sertorius to bear. How had he described Mamercus to me? ‘Bright, curious, clever, wholly committed to the cause.’ How painfully ironic those words seemed now!

  I think that in that moment, Sertorius saw that the white fawn counted for nothing after all; that his days were numbered; that the might of Rome would never cease hounding him until he was destroyed and all traces of his rival state were obliterated from the earth. He picked up the scarf and pressed it to his face, covering his eyes, and for that I was thankful.

  The voyage back to Rome seemed long and tedious, yet not nearly long enough; I was not looking forward to meeting with Gaius Claudius and giving him the news.

  I had done exactly as he asked: I had found his grandson, delivered the letter, invited Mamercus to flee. I had accepted the task and completed it. When Sertorius asked me to find the white fawn, how could I have known the end?

  None of us could have known the outcome of my trip to Spain, least of all Gaius Claudius. And yet, if Gaius had not sent me to find his grandson, Mamercus might still have been alive. Would the old man be able to bear the bitterness of it, that seeking only to bring the boy safely home, he himself had instigated the events that led to the boy’s destruction?

  And yet, surely Mamercus alone was responsible for his downfall. He had deceived his grandfather, no matter that he loved him; had been a spy for a man and a cause he did not love; had murdered an innocent girl. And for what? All for money; nothing but that.

  I should not waste a single tear on the boy, I told myself, leaning over
the rail of the ship that carried me back to Rome. It was night. The sky was black and the moon was full, her face spread upon the dark waters like a great pool of white light. Perhaps I did shed a tear for Mamercus Claudius; but the cold breeze plucked it at once from my cheek and dropped it into the vastness of the salty sea. There it was lost in an instant, and surely never counted for anything in the scales of justice, either as reckoned by mortals or by the gods.

  THE STATUETTE OF RHODES

  John Maddox Roberts

  Starting with SPQR (1990), John Maddox Roberts introduced us to the character of Decius Metellus, a Roman administrator who lived throughout the last days of the Roman Republic. His investigations are further chronicled in SPQR II: The Catiline Conspiracy (1991), The Sacrilege (1992) and The Temple of the Muses (1992).

  Rhodes is the most beautiful place in the world. Above its gemlike harbor the houses and public buildings ascend the encircling hills in blinding whiteness and the flowers bloom the year round. The whole city is adorned with the most fabulous works of art, for, unlike mainland Greece and the other islands, Rhodes has remained unplundered by foreigners since the days of its greatest glory, and the citizens have made every effort to prevent great works of art from leaving the island, no matter how high the bids and bribes of collectors.

  The populace are as civilized as the island is beautiful, the Rhodians having cultivated good manners the way others cultivate war, and their legal and governmental institutions are models for others to follow, the laws extending even to the protection of slaves and foreigners. For centuries artists, authors, philosophers and rhetoricians have chosen Rhodes as their home and the noble youth from the whole world are sent there for the final polish on their education.

  It is, in short, an unutterably boring place. When a nation, however small and insignificant, has no better claim to prominence than beauty, scholarship, education, art and culture, it is in the terminal stages of decadence. Where would we Romans be if we’d sat around making pretty pictures and being polite to one another? We’d all be hauling plows for Gauls and polishing chamberpots for Carthaginians, that’s where.