The Corpus Conundrum

by Albert A. Bell

  “Disappeared? And that’s the second thing? Then I can’t imagine what the first is going to be. Disappeared from where?”

  “We brought him back here, put him in a stall, barred and sealed the door, and posted guards. But, when Mother and Naomi went out there this morning to prepare him for burial, he was gone.”

  “You’re sure he wasn’t hiding in there?”

  “I’m sure. There was nothing in the stall but the manger and the blanket he had been wrapped in. Oh, and a bat.”

  Tacitus shuddered. “You’re lucky there was only one. A whole colony of the nasty things tried to establish themselves in one of the sheds on my farm in Gaul. It took us—”

  “The bat doesn’t matter. It’s the dead man I’m interested in. When you find a dead man on your property, you can’t just shrug it off.”

  “But if he got up and left, then obviously he wasn’t dead. He was just ... taking a nap. You don’t have to worry about him any longer.”

  “What confounds me, though, is that he wasn’t breathing when we came across him in the woods, and I couldn’t feel his heart.” I put my hand on my own chest. “You can feel the heart pulsating in every living creature, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. But couldn’t he have been unconscious? Perhaps he was drugged.”

  “Even when people are unconscious, their hearts pulsate and they breathe. This man did not draw a breath the entire time I was examining him. Not a single breath. And he did not react in any way while I examined him or when we moved him.”

  Tacitus nodded. “That settles it. He was dead. I’ve seen how long it takes you, with your morbid curiosity, to examine a body.”

  “I’m not morbid. I’m thorough.”

  “However you define it, the fellow couldn’t have held his breath that long.” Tacitus took a deep breath and held it for a moment or two. His eyes got big, then he exhaled noisily. “See. Now, what did he look like?”

  I described Nobody as accurately as I could.

  “So, some wandering beggar, or perhaps a philosopher.” Tacitus sipped his wine. “No great loss in either case and nothing you have to report to anybody. He could have been trying to live off berries or fruits on your land and ate something that rendered him unconscious for a while, until his body could throw it off.”

  “There was no sign that his body threw anything off. He didn’t vomit or pass anything through any other orifice. I can’t find any explanation for this.”

  “Does everything have to have an explanation? Remember Er in Plato’s Republic. People were so sure he was dead that he was placed on a funeral pyre, but he came back to life after twelve days.”

  I waved my hand impatiently. “That’s just a myth. Yesterday I was sure this man was dead. I couldn’t detect any breathing, and he didn’t react in any way when we lifted him or carried him back here.”

  “All right. You say the disappearance of the body is the second thing that makes you doubt he was dead. But you had already sent for me before he disappeared. So the first thing that made you doubt it must have been something that happened yesterday. What was it? And if it’s something more than a body disappearing—”

  “It wasn’t something that happened. It was something I observed—the leaves.”

  “The leaves? Well, yes, there certainly are lots of those around here to observe.”

  “I mean the leaves where we found him. It rained the night before last. Just a light rain, but enough to wet everything. The man’s hair was damp.”

  “What does that have to do with leaves?”

  “When my servants picked him up, I felt along the ground where he had been lying, to see if there were any objects that might identify him. The leaves under him were dry.”

  “All right, so someone placed him there before it started to rain.”

  “But the leaves were also warm. I didn’t mention it to anyone at the time because I was so surprised.”

  “Surprised by warm leaves?”

  “A dead body has no heat. The leaves wouldn’t have been warm if he was dead.”

  Tacitus turned back to look out over the bay. After a few moments he said, “Well then, he wasn’t dead, and now he’s gone. No crime was committed. No one can accuse you of anything. You have nothing else to worry about. Why are you so perplexed about this?”

  “Because—whether he was dead or alive, or something in between—it’s as though he vanished into the air, and we both know that’s impossible.”

  “Agreed. It just means he got out of your stall somehow.”

  I shook my head. “He was in a barred and sealed, guarded room. There was no way out except through the door.”

  “Then he got out through the door. That’s a logical necessity.”

  “But the door was locked from the outside and a guard was on duty all night.”

  “Was your seal broken this morning?”

  “Yes, but I can’t tell when it was broken because my mother and Naomi went out and opened the door. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  We went back into the house by the door next to the bath. Tacitus put his hand on the wall where the ducts were feeding heated air into the room. “Nice and warm. It feels like it’s ready for us.”

  “I’ll need it after tramping all over the woods looking for this man.”

  Passing the door we could hear the voices of the women who were using the bath at that time.

  “So you don’t follow Domitian’s example?”Tacitus asked.

  “Certainly not. I’ll never have men and women bathing together in my house. It’s bad enough that my mother invites the servant women to bathe with her.”

  We turned into the central courtyard of the house, with its geometric pattern of tiles in the floor, and exited through the atrium. I turned right toward the paddock. It’s far enough south of the house that, even when we get a breeze from the east, the smell blows out to sea without bothering us. Tranio and his men were caring for the horses that Tacitus and his servants had ridden from Rome. The stall where Nobody had been kept was still locked and under guard. The cart we had hauled him in stood by the gate nearest that stall. I dismissed all of the servants so Tacitus and I could talk.

  “This is where he was,” I said in Greek, which few of the servants on this rural estate could understand. I took that precaution in case any of them were still within earshot. “A guard was at this door all night, a new man every four hours.”

  Tacitus surveyed the building, running his hand over the door and its frame, then stepping back to get an overall view. “Are you certain they were here, in front of this door, all night? And that they were awake every moment?”

  “No one was seen sleeping. Tranio checked on them and they vouch for one another.”

  Taking a quick look into the stall, Tacitus scoffed. “As would any servants who were afraid of punishment. Even if they were awake, someone could have bribed them.”

  “Tranio says the men he picked are absolutely trustworthy.”

  Tacitus threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Gaius Pliny, most of the time you seem wise beyond your years. It’s refreshing to be reminded now and then of how naïve you can be. Everyone can be trusted up to a point, but no one is absolutely trustworthy. In Rome, living long enough to see your grandchildren requires finding the point at which each person can no longer be trusted. That’s how Regulus works. Surely someone who’s as skilled at latrunculi as you are knows that any move you make can mean something other than what it appears to.”

  Though I consider myself a realist, Tacitus’ cynicism sometimes weighs heavily on me. I’m afraid he may pass it on to me, like a disease. “But these are my servants. I’ve known them all my life. I grew up among them, played with them or their children.”

  “And any one of them would slit your throat while you slept.” He drew his finger quickly across his own throat. “If someone found the point at which their trust could be turned into mistrust. Everyone has such a point. That is the fundamental fact of life in Rome.”<
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  “If you’re right, then I have to conclude that there is a point beyond which I can no longer trust you.”

  He rested a hand on my shoulder. “There probably is, my friend, but the secret we share has moved that point so far along on the continuum of trust that no one will ever be able to find it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How reassuring.”

  “I appreciate your sarcasm, but in Rome that’s the most reassurance you’ll get. At least you can trust one person. Pity our poor princeps. There is absolutely no one he can trust.” He slapped my shoulder and turned to examine the stall door. “Now, I think you’re approaching this problem of the disappearing lifeless-but-not-dead man from the wrong direction.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re trying to understand how he could have appeared to be dead. What you need to ask yourself first is how he got out of this stall. Can we go inside?”

  Nodding, I unbolted the stall and stepped back to allow Tacitus to enter. As soon as he was in, I closed the door and dropped the bolt back into place.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Tacitus’ face appeared at the barred opening in the door.

  “You think he could have gotten out,” I said with a smile. “Show me how.”

  Tacitus reached through the bars and tried to grab the neck of my tunic, but I stepped back out of his reach. He gripped the bars and rattled the door.

  “It doesn’t look like he attacked the guard,” I said. “Or pushed the door open.”

  Tacitus rested his head against the bars, then looked up again. “You said your guards were on duty for four hours each?”

  “Yes. And each man reported that the one before him was at his post and awake when he was relieved.”

  “I would not expect them to say anything else,” Tacitus said, giving the bars another futile tug. “But, in a four-hour watch, a nap might be tempting, especially if you’ve been told the man you’re guarding is dead.”

  I did not appreciate the way he was eroding my confidence in my own household. “All three of the men swear they were awake at all times.”

  “A flogging might produce a different story.”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t do that. Tranio checked once during each man’s watch. He says he found them awake and at their post.”

  Tacitus stuck one arm through the bars and motioned for me to come closer. “Would you let me out if I gave you fifty denarii?”

  “You think Nobody might have awakened and bribed the guard?”

  Tacitus nodded.

  “But he had no money bag on him and not a single piece of jewelry. What could he have used for a bribe?”

  “Then someone from outside provided the bribe.”

  “No one knew he was here. You’re creating some preposterous conspiracy without any evidence.”

  “Is it any more preposterous than your notion that the fellow disappeared, like Athena did after she convinced Hector to stop running and fight Achilles? I’ve always wondered what that poor fool felt like when he looked over his shoulder for help and discovered how badly he’d been duped.” He slapped his hand on the door. “But perhaps that’s the solution! This man was a god who had taken on human form. You disturbed his nap, so he—”

  “Now you’ve moved beyond merely preposterous to utterly ridiculous.”

  Tacitus let his arm sag, but the window was high enough and small enough that he couldn’t reach the bolt. He screwed up his face like a man thinking hard. “Four hours is a long time. A man standing watch here during the night might need to relieve himself.”

  “He could do that right here.”

  “Do you enjoy standing in your own piss, Gaius Pliny? Or smelling it for several hours?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Few men do. And what if he needed to empty his bowels?”

  “I suppose he might have ... stepped outside the paddock for a moment.” I looked at the gate, estimating how long a man might be away from the door.

  “Please do that. Count to twenty, slowly.”

  I passed through the paddock gate and did as Tacitus asked. On the other side of the paddock wall I picked up a stick and scratched in the leaves but did not detect any evidence that a man had relieved himself recently. After allowing the time Tacitus had specified—even crouching down as though relieving myself—I stepped back into the paddock and took up my position outside the stall door.

  “So what does that prove?” I asked.

  There was no answer. I looked through the bars but could see nothing in the dark stall.

  “Tacitus?”

  When there was still no answer, I unbolted the door and flung it open.

  Tacitus was gone.

  III

  I entered the stall and searched frantically for a hole or any other means of escape I had overlooked.

  “The manger!” I muttered. “Why didn’t I look under the manger? That’s the obvious place to hide a tunnel.” But when I turned the manger over, the ground beneath it was solid.

  Dropping to my hands and knees, I began feeling my way toward the back of the stall. I was halfway there when the door slammed shut and the bolt dropped into place. I looked back over my shoulder to see Tacitus grinning at me from the other side of the bars.

  “You make a handsome horse,” he said, “if on the small side. More of a pony, perhaps.”

  I jumped to my feet and grabbed the bars in the small window. “How did you get out? A tunnel? There must be a tunnel. Where is it?”

  “There’s no tunnel. As I told you, if this door is the only way out, then that fellow got out through the door.”

  “But how?”I felt a complete fool.

  He took a step away from the door. “If you haven’t figured it out by the time I finish my bath, I’ll come back and tell you.”

  “Don’t leave me in here!” I reached through the bars and made a futile grab for him.

  Tacitus wagged a finger at me. “That tone might work on your servants, but it’s not the way you ought to speak to a friend.”

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me in here. Tell me how you got out.”

  “Better than that, I’ll show you. This is an excellent stall for holding a horse, but it makes a poor prison for a man. A horse can’t reach through the bars and raise the bolt, but a man can.”

  I stretched my arm as far as I could reach, but I couldn’t touch the bolt. “You couldn’t even reach it, and you’re taller than I am. Nobody was shorter than I am. How could he have reached the bolt?”

  “My friend,”Tacitus said, “you’re either not thinking enough or thinking too much. Look around you.”

  I couldn’t decide whom I was angrier at—Tacitus for outwitting me and now making sport of me or myself for being so slow-witted. But I looked around, and then I saw it. A piece of rope hanging from a nail beside the door. It already had a loop tied in it because it was used to control the horses. I could reach it easily. Then it was just a matter of letting it down and catching the end of the bolt. One tug and the bolt was raised and the door swung open.

  Greatly chagrined, I stepped out of the stall. “So you think Nobody regained consciousness, opened the door like this, and absconded.”

  “It’s the simplest, most logical explanation.”

  “But it depends on the guard not being here, and they all swear they were.”

  “A servant might step away to relieve himself and not even think it worth mentioning, especially if he thought he was keeping watch over a dead man. In his own mind, resentful of the loss of sleep, he would have been here all the time.”

  “But even if one of the men did step to the other side of the paddock wall, This man still had to get out of the paddock without being seen. How did you do that?”

  Tacitus pointed to the cart in which we had hauled Nobody back to the house. “I hid behind that. Your servants left it right beside the gate. When you returned to the door, you looked into the stall, as anyone would, I think, on instinct. While your back was
turned, I slipped out through the paddock gate.”

  “And the guard would have seen the blanket in place on the floor—if he saw anything in the dark—and would have thought everything was as it should be.”

  Tacitus nodded. “That blanket is what he was wrapped in?”

  “Yes. It’s what I was sitting on when we found him.”

  “It’s still in the shape it was when it was placed around him, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and that’s a little unnerving. I would expect a man awakening with a blanket wrapped tightly around him to throw it off.”

  “That would be the natural reaction, I think, but this man would make it look like he was still in the blanket, in case anyone looked in through the bars.”Tacitus opened the stall and bent over to examine the blanket. “Why hasn’t anyone moved it yet?

  “I didn’t see any reason to move it. ... And none of my servants would touch it.”

  “None of them would touch it?”

  I shook my head. “They’re convinced there’s something magical about it.”

  “Just because the man who was sleeping in it got up and walked away?”

  “They don’t believe that’s what happened. They’re already spreading nonsense about him coming back to life. They say the blanket is in that shape because his body vanished and reappeared somewhere else.”

  Tacitus’ face darkened, like a man who’s heard deeply troubling news. “You need to nip something like that in the bud. Tear it out by the roots, if you’ll pardon the slightly mixed metaphor. That kind of story can lead to hysteria among women and slaves. Just one more reason for you to make your guards tell you which one of them was away from the door long enough for the fellow to get out.”

  He picked up the blanket and brought it to the door.

  “It’s just an old rag,” I said.

  “Not the one you slept with as a child?”

  “Certainly not,” I protested, but I could feel my face reddening.

  Tacitus laid the blanket out in the light so that the side which had been touching Nobody’s body was uppermost. He peered at it with great curiosity, turning his head from side to side. “It seems to have some stains on it.”