The Mammoth Book of Classical Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley

‘Ah, there is no mystery there,’ Librarian said. ‘It’s simply cord of the type we use to suspend the lamps from the ceiling spars. Mosse left it here after replacing one of the lamp cords last week. I intended reminding him about it.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘You must have one heck of a long ladder to reach the beams.’

  ‘No, years ago we perfected the technique of tying a light line to a weight and throwing it over the beam, then we haul the heavier cord over so it’s looped over the beam then tie both ends to the lamp hooks.’

  ‘Ingenious,’ I said, ‘but was Mosse so untidy as to leave the cord on the floor?’

  ‘No, it was hanging from one of the iron pegs on the wall. In the commotion it must have been knocked to the floor.’

  ‘So, we have stout cord, maybe thirty paces in length. It is uncoiled.’

  ‘No mystery.’ Gabinius now sounded bored. ‘With all the people milling about in here, they uncoiled it with their feet.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Look,’ hissed Gabinius. ‘We have a suspect. The foreigner, Ha’dar –’

  ‘Ha’radaa.’

  ‘Okay, whatever the devil’s name is. He has fresh bruising. Why don’t we simply beat the truth out of him. The guards would be happy, more than happy, to help there.’

  ‘You can beat most men into confessing to a crime they might or might not have committed, but I don’t think even those animals out there could beat Roman out of a man who clearly can’t speak the language.’

  ‘But all this talk of looking! Looking for clues! Looking at the feet of the corpse! Looking at the filthy lotus petals! Looking! Looking! Where the hell is it getting you?’

  ‘Look around you, Gabinius, what don’t you see now?’

  ‘What don’t I see? You’re talking in riddles, Amun-Arten.’

  ‘Look, by your feet. What was once there, and is there no longer?’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense, man.’

  ‘The pool of oil,’ said Marcus his eyes widening. ‘It’s drained away.’

  ‘There’s nothing so extraordinary about that!’ said Gabinius, hotly. ‘It’s simply drained between the cracks in the stonework.’

  ‘But,’ I held up a finger, ‘it’s a reminder of what lies beneath our feet. Look, the walls are solid, the door was locked from both the inside and the outside, the windows are too high to admit anyone. The only possible entrance is through the floor.’

  Gabinius snorted. ‘So the murderer burrowed in here like a mole.’

  I shook my head. ‘Beneath Alexandria is a labyrinth of ancient catacombs; a vast necropolis occupied by a million dead. The catacombs can even be accessed through the cellars of some of the houses in the very street that runs outside. Chrysippus once showed me one that can be reached through the stable in his back yard. We walked for a mile beneath the city streets. And in the ancient tombs there were thousands of coffins, and on the coffins were these.’ I picked up a dried petal. ‘Garlands of lotus blossom, dried crisp as ashes.’

  ‘Those lotus blossom leaves weren’t in here before Diomedes was locked in the room with the map,’ Marcus said eagerly. ‘Somehow the murderer brought them in here, perhaps stuck to his clothes.’

  Librarian nodded sagely. ‘A murderer who gained access to this reading room via a subterranean tunnel, which has an entrance through this very floor.’

  Even Gabinius’ hopes were renewed. ‘And for some reason poor Diomedes ventured down into the catacomb where the floor is covered in black dirt.’

  ‘What now, Theo?’

  ‘Bring an iron bar and we’ll begin levering up the stone slabs until we find the entrance.’

  Librarian ordered Mosse to bring the iron bar, and we began. Marcus, Gabinius, and even Librarian, shouted excited instructions to each other as we began lifting the stone floor slabs. How we chose the slabs to lift was made easy for us. Most had been cemented down, so we discounted those. With every slab we lifted we expected the characteristic gush of tomb air, heavy with the scent of ancient spices that had been used to pack the bodies; then steps leading down into a well of shadow.

  But the time passed; each lifted slab exposed only the compacted sand of the building’s foundations. Perspiration poured off the three men. Hope and excitement began to turn to disappointment. Then despair.

  We’d lifted every loose slab. Nothing but sand. At last I sat with my back to the wall, the corpse with his blackened feet still lying mute in the middle of the floor, and I held one of those dried lotus petals in my hand and cursed and cursed my arrogance and my stupidity. You, love, have said time and time again that I am obsessed with being able to treat and to cure every disease I encounter. And time and time again, love, you have rightly told me it is not my fault when a patient of mine dies. But still I will pace our rooms, whispering curses and slapping my forehead in frustration at my ignorance.

  I knew now this case had no diagnosis. I’d merely been playing games to while away the time before I felt the blade bite my throat. Then I’d watch my life flow away into the gutter, and I knew I would cling, as a drowning sailor clings to a broken spar, to the memory of your beautiful eyes when they open in the dawn, and your trusting smile, and I’d feel so humble, yet so proud, that you made the decision to spend your life with me.

  We have stopped searching now. The iron bar lies discarded against the wall. The monkeys still throw stones down onto the guards.

  Now I am using what time I have left before General Romulus returns to finish my letter to you. Don’t grieve long for me, my love. Begin a new life. Part of me will be the desert winds that seem to call your name. And part of me will be the desert sands that forever fall from blue skies to speckle your bare shoulders like freckles. When you brush them from your skin, brush gently, my love. For somewhere I will feel the brush of your fingertips against my cheek.

  Theocritas Amun-Arten

  THE CLERK’S TESTIMONY

  My name is Chrysippus. I am a court clerk of twenty years. My profession is to record verbatim speech of the litigants and the judicial decisions. Theocritas Amun-Arten, a good friend since boyhood, has asked me to complete this letter to you on his behalf.

  Theo asked me into the Isis reading room to record the testament of the murdered scribe’s master, one Gabinius Larentia.

  Gabinius spoke plainly. A condemned man’s statement to be committed to history: ‘My name is Gabinius Larentia. I make this testament freely knowing I will be dead within the hour. I was commissioned five years ago to locate a map drawn by the captain of a merchant ship in the time of Tiberius. There are stories handed down from ancient Phoenician sailors of a vast unknown continent. Legends say it is reached by sailing due west beyond the Pillars of Hercules and far out across the Atlantic. The captain of the merchant ship went in search of this land in the West and returned a year to the day later with the map I located today in this very library. On the reverse of the map is recorded information about the land. Its climate is Mediterranean, the rivers are swollen with fish, bison roam the flatlands in herds so vast no human eye can comprehend them. And there are men there with skins as red as copper.’

  Theo asked, ‘What did General Romulus plan?’

  ‘He planned to create a new and greater Rome. You see Romulus is a pagan Roman. He despises the Emperor Constantine’s conversion to Christianity, and the removal of the seat of the Empire’s power from Rome eastwards to Constantinople. The General’s plan was to make a pact with the barbarians in the North, to simply let them walk into Rome and occupy it, while he intended to turn Spain into his fortress state. While Constantine battled to oust the barbarians from Rome, Romulus would execute a three-year plan that would see the exodus of the cream of Roman citizenship via Spain, westward across the ocean to the new and forever pagan Rome. He envisaged fleets of ships more than a thousand strong, carrying Roman families and gold. The ships would be beached on the new world beyond the Atlantic and broken up, their timber to be used in the construction of the city.’


  ‘What would the result of this exodus be?’

  ‘The Empire would be destroyed. Firstly, because Romulus would bankrupt the Western half in the building of the enormous fleet of ships and by denuding it of its craftsmen, armies and its finest citizens; and secondly because Constantine would never be able to defeat a barbarian army that has barricaded itself inside Rome’s city walls. Ultimately, the barbarian would take Constantinople herself and the Empire would be lost forever.’

  ‘But if all that is needed is to sail due west why does Romulus need the map?’

  ‘He dreamt that the gods visited him, offering him the map as a token of success. But they warned if he failed to find it, and so failed to restore the old gods to Rome, then they would smite him down from above.’

  ‘So Romulus is superstitious?’

  ‘Extremely superstitious. He was actually afraid to leave his headquarters after dark because he heard that the gods of old Egypt came alive tonight.’

  Theo gave a grim laugh. ‘He’s obviously not aware of Alexandrian folklore.’

  Wearily, Gabinius smiled. ‘I was alarmed too, until I learnt you were referring to your apes.’

  Theo began to pace the floor of the room looking thoughtfully at the body of the scribe. ‘Gabinius, you have faith in the General’s plan.’

  ‘He doesn’t pay me to have faith in him. He paid me to find the map. Which I lost tonight.’

  ‘You’re a pagan?’

  ‘I show my face at the temple of Jupiter from time to time.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t be unduly worried at the loss of Constantine and the destruction of Christianity?’

  ‘Christianity’s a fad. It just happens to be fashionable with the upper classes at the moment because the Emperor’s family are Christian.’

  ‘I see.’ Theo rubbed his jaw. ‘You hate Christians?’

  ‘Hardly. I employed one.’ Gabinius pointed at the dead man on the floor.

  ‘Diomedes was a Christian?’ Theo looked up in surprise. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Then there came the march of feet with military precision. The six hours were up. General Romulus had returned for his map.

  Theo said urgently, ‘Listen, did Diomedes have a family? It’s important. You must tell me.’

  ‘At this moment nothing’s important,’ said Gabinius, his red face at last turning grey. ‘We are all ghosts now.’

  ‘Gabinius. Listen to me. Did that man have a family?’

  The sound of footsteps grew louder. The chattering of the monkeys stopped at the arrival of more soldiers. I saw Theo look up. The grey light that precedes the dawn had touched the top of the stonework. As Gabinius, resigned to his death, started to leave the room, Theo caught him by the arm.

  ‘Gabinius! Did the murdered man have a family?’

  ‘Theo, friend Theo, if I can call you that now. We can continue this conversation at our leisure in the next world.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to stop in this one a little longer?’

  Gabinius stopped and frowned. ‘Why? What do you know?’

  ‘Does the dead man have a family? It’s vital that I know.’

  Romulus entered the room. Gabinius closed his mouth tight. Theo looked at me despairingly. Then almost as if the words had sprung from his lips unbidden, Gabinius turned to Theo and said. ‘Yes. A wife and four young children.’

  Theo nodded with gratitude and let out a sigh as if a sack of bricks had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Romulus spoke like a man who had anticipated a certain outcome and realized he wasn’t going to be disappointed. ‘Gabinius, I understand the map hasn’t been found?’

  Gabinius nodded, his face even more grey.

  General Romulus’ expression was sour. ‘Then I will honour my promise to you all. You will each be taken outside and your throats will be opened.’

  Under his breath, Theo said to me, ‘Chrysippus. Keep writing down all that you see and hear. Don’t stop writing. Even if I’m killed here where I stand, keep writing . . . keep writing.’

  I was puzzled and, believe me, very frightened. I was to die too, but the very force of feeling in his voice kept my pen moving.

  I write now what I see in front of me. Just as it happens.

  Standing before me, as I inscribe the sheets of papyrus clipped to my scribe’s board, is General Romulus, three of the German bodyguard, young Marcus, Gabinius and Librarian. The body still lies on the floor; the lamps still burn.

  What mystifies me, even alarms me, is the transformation of Theocritas Amun-Arten. Even General Romulus is taken aback. It’s as if Theo has undergone some mystical transfiguration. He looks suddenly larger than life, animated, as if some great spirit has filled him, infusing and enthusing him. His eyes shine, he moves from side to side; his hands sweep outward in priestly gestures as he speaks: ‘General Romulus. I am offering myself as the first of our number to be executed.’

  ‘A Christian?’ Romulus snorted. ‘Always eager for self-sacrifice aren’t you?’

  ‘My offer has a number of conditions that I should like you to agree to.’

  ‘You’re a strange specimen of a man. Conditions? You want to negotiate a contract, just moments before your death?’

  ‘Yes, I promise I will lie as still as stone on the library steps and guide the executioner’s blade myself if I prove unable to explain fully and clearly what happened to this poor man – and the map. Also I must have your promise that you will not order any harm to be done to the family of anyone in this library.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, funny little man. I already know what happened.’

  This time Theo looked surprised. ‘You do?’

  ‘I owe my present status to more than sheer brute force. I thrive on information. My German bodyguard aren’t ignorant men. One of them stood outside this doorway and carefully listened to every word said.’

  ‘If you know who the murderer is why haven’t you got the map?’

  ‘You really do have bad manners. I thought my status carried with it at least a modicum of respect.’

  ‘Being obsequious won’t save my throat now.’

  ‘True.’ He signalled to one of his guards in the doorway. ‘My men have arrested the murderer. We’ll merely have to look a little further afield for the map.’

  Theo’s eyes widened as the man was brought into the room. ‘Ha’radaa?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Romulus, pleased. ‘You identified him yourself. The dead scribe has bruised fists. This oriental’s chest and arms are bruised from the blows.’

  ‘But how did Ha’radaa enter and leave a room via a door that is locked on both sides?’

  ‘The man is small, appears agile. He will have scaled the outside of the building, which the monkeys seem to have no trouble in doing.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that like a monkey he can –’

  ‘Once through the window at the top of the wall,’ Romulus continued, ‘he climbed down inside the room, using those iron pegs set in the wall.’

  ‘But those iron pegs only reach as far as the stone ledge, which is only half way up the wall, he would have needed –’

  ‘A rope? Probably. So here is our criminal.’

  ‘I believe, General Romulus, you have made a mistake.’

  ‘Oh, so our little Egyptian says I am mistaken.’

  ‘With respect, General, I can show you what happened in this room. First, though, I think I should dismiss this gentleman as a suspect . . . Marcus, please ask Staki to step inside.’

  When Staki arrived, he stood nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  ‘Can I have a look at your hands, please, Staki . . . no, palms downward please. Thank you. Your left fist is bruised. The right fist has a cut, which has become infected. If you’d take my advice, Staki, you should treat a suppurating wound with a little honey. You’ve been in a fight, Staki?’

  ‘A few days ago. I . . . I . . .’

  ‘Who were you f
ighting?’

  Staki stared glassily in front of him. ‘Sailors in the harbour tavern. They were . . .’

  ‘You are lying,’ said Romulus incisively.

  Theo glanced at Ha’radaa. ‘Why did this gentleman become so angry with you earlier this evening?’

  ‘I . . . well . . . he obviously mistook me . . .’

  Theo shook his head. ‘If we had the time to go into this further, Staki, I think the truth of the matter is, that you and probably your thug friends happened across this visitor to Alexandria here, beat him up and robbed him?’

  Staki’s heavy lips trembled and he looked as if he was going to protest his innocence until his eyes met the hawk eyes of the General. His head dropped. ‘Yes. We followed him from Caeser’s Square and jumped him in the alley way that runs at the back of the temple.’

  General Romulus gave a dry smile. ‘Punishment for petty robbery and assault is flogging. But there would be little point in flogging a dead man would there?’

  The guard escorted Staki and Ha’radaa out of the room.

  ‘So,’ said Romulus. ‘You’ve now lost your prime suspect. You know, you had a chance to save your skins there by simply pinning the blame on the oriental.’

  ‘But that would have been unfair.’

  ‘So you’re more concerned about fairness and justice than your survival?’

  ‘Aren’t those the foundation stones of our civilization?’

  ‘Well . . . you must be the first Egyptian I’ve met who’s far too honest and honourable for his own good. But I’m afraid your principles are more impressive than your good sense. What’s your name?’

  ‘Theocritas Amun-Arten. I’m a physician.’

  ‘Right, Amun-Arten, give me your account of events in this room tonight. You’ve got the time it takes the executioner to sharpen his knife on the stone.’

  Theo nodded, accepting the challenge. ‘First, I’ll admit my mistake. I believed there was an entrance through the floor to the catacombs that honeycomb the rock beneath the city. The assailant had entered the room via that passageway, so I wrongly postulated, killed Diomedes and made off with the map. As I’ve described before the Egyptians place garlands of lotus blossom on the coffins of their dead. My belief was that the assailant had inadvertently carried a few of the petals into the room with him.’