A Point of Law(17)

“You mentioned three weapons.”

“At least three, possibly more.”

“Can you describe them?”

“There were two types: one narrow-bladed, the other broad. I see wounds produced by at least one of these narrow blades. The dagger was no more than an inch wide, its cross-section of a flattened diamond shape. There were at least two broad-bladed daggers used: both were in excess of two inches wide, one made of rather thin steel with a thickened midrib for rigidity. The other was of stouter metal without the midrib. Instead it had three parallel grooves to add strength and rigidity to the blade, as well as to lighten it and confer better balance.” As physician to the gladiators of the Statilian ludus, his knowledge of edged weapons was comprehensive.

“Like a soldier’s pugio?” I asked.

“Pugios have such blades.”

“And all the weapons were double-edged? These cuts look like they were made by a sica.” I referred to the curved, single-edged knife favored by street thugs.

“These were not delivered as cuts. The wounds are very asymmetrical. In each case the blade was stabbed in, then dragged from right to left as it was withdrawn. This is characteristic of a right-handed assailant. The gash thus opened is wide, but not very deep. A typical sica cut is symmetrical and deepest in the center.”

“So we are looking at a minimum of three murderers?” I asked.

“At least three knife wielders and possibly more. But there were others involved.”

“How so?”

“You notice that there are no wounds to the hands and arms?”

“I wondered at that.”

“Any man, seeing hostile blades attacking his body, will try to ward them off instinctively. For this many weapons to have landed on his torso, he should have received many cuts on his arms and hands.”

“He was held.”

“Held from behind, hence no wounds in the back.”

“Is it possible he was bound?” I asked.

“A man being killed struggles hard against bindings. It leaves deep ligature marks on the wrists, and this man has none. I believe that, had the body not bled out so thoroughly, we should see bruises on the shoulders and arms, where at least two strong men held him fast while he was stabbed.”

Hermes spoke up. “Might he have been asleep? If he was lying on his back there’d be no wounds there, and by the time he woke up he might have been too weak to defend himself.”

“No,” Asklepiodes said, “these blows were not delivered downward. The angle of entry would be quite different.”

“Besides,” I said, “he was stabbed through his tunic.” I looked around and found a temple slave. “Bring us the dead man’s garments.” He trotted off and in a few minutes I told the physician about the strange events of the last two days.

A few minutes later the slave brought the bloody toga and tunic. He even had the dead man’s sandals. “We were about to burn them,” the slave said.

“I am going to keep these as evidence.” At my request Asklepiodes’ slaves spread the clothes on the floor. There were numerous rents in the tunic, but the toga, though stained, was whole.

“It looks like he wasn’t wearing the toga when he was killed. The murderers must have wrapped him up in it to carry him to the Forum and leave his body where we were sure to find it.”

“Why was he wearing such shabby clothes?” Hermes wanted to know.

“I am wondering that, too. He was of good birth, although he’d won no distinction in Rome. Yesterday, when he berated me in the Forum, his clothes were of good quality. He would have worn his best coming to appear in court today. Hermes, I want you to take these home with you. They might prove significant later on.”

“Carry these rags?” he exclaimed with horror. “They’re unclean!”

“You’re ready enough to shed other peoples’ blood. I don’t see why you should object to getting a little of it on you. It’s all but dry, anyway.”

“I’m not going to touch this stuff,” he said stubbornly. “I don’t care how many purifications the priest performs.”

“I hate superstition,” I said. “All right, there should be a sack around here someplace. Get a temple slave to bag this up for you first.” He went off in search of one.

“Sometimes I regret giving that boy his freedom,” I said to Asklepiodes. “Now he thinks he’s too good to run errands.”

“He’s grown into a fine-looking young man though. I’ve missed seeing him practice at the school in recent months.”

“He should be glad I never sent him to the mines.”