The Temple of the Muses(22)

“Nonetheless, I shall send word,” Amphytrion said.

From without we could hear the voices of a number of people approaching. I went to the door and saw the whole mob from the banquet crossing the courtyard.

“Asklepiodes, come in here,” I said. “The rest, please stay outside for the moment.”

The little Greek came in, beaming all over his bearded face. He loved this sort of thing. He walked to the corpse and knelt beside it, placing his hands beneath his jaw and moving the head this way and that.

“Even the best lamplight is inadequate for really good analysis of this sort,” he pronounced. “Dedius Caecilius, would you place four of the lamps around his head, no more than three or four inches away?” He got up and began rooting about in the mess. I did as he requested and within a minute he found what he was looking for. He returned with what looked like a shallow, very highly polished bowl of silver. He turned to the little group of scholars who peered in through the door.

“Iphicrates was doing research on the use by Archimedes of parabolic reflectors. A concave mirror has the power to concentrate the light it reflects.” He turned the open end of the bowl toward Iphicrates, and sure enough, it cast a beam of concentrated light upon the ghastly wound. From outside came murmurs of admiration at this philosophic cleverness.

While Asklepiodes made his inspection, I went to the doorway.

“Your colleague Iphicrates has been foully murdered,” I announced. “I ask all of you to think whether you have seen any strange persons in this area just before the banquet.” I said this primarily to keep them occupied so that they wouldn’t interfere with my investigation. I wouldn’t have trusted this lot to notice if their robes were on fire. Sosigenes was the only one I would have thought a reliable observer. Except for the late Iphicrates, who was unavailable for comment.

Fausta came close and peered in. “A murder! How thrilling!”

“If you really marry Milo,” I said, “murders will get to be old stuff to you, too.” I turned back to Amphytrion. “Is there any sort of inventory of Iphicrates’s things? It would help greatly to know what is missing, since the murderer or murderers clearly were looking for something.”

He shook his head. “Iphicrates was a secretive man. Nobody but he knew what he possessed.”

“No students? Personal slaves?”

“He did all his work alone save for such workmen as he requested. He had a valet, a slave owned by the Museum and assigned to him. Few of us feel the need for a staff of slaves.”

“I would like to question the valet,” I said.

“Senator,” he said, his patience wearing thin, “I must remind you that this is an affair to be investigated by the crown of Egypt.”

“Oh, I’ll clear things with Ptolemy,” I said confidently. “Now, if you will be so good, I think it would be best if you were to assign a secretary to make an inventory of every object in this room: papers, drawings, valuables, everything right down to the furniture. If items known to have belonged to Iphicrates prove to be missing, it could be helpful in determining the identity of the murderer.”

“I suppose it would do no harm,” he grumped. “The king’s appointed investigator might find it useful as well. Is this some new school of philosophy of which I was previously unaware?”

“It’s my own school. You might call it ‘applied logic.’”

“How very … Roman. I shall assign competent personnel.”

“Good. And be sure that they list the subjects of all the drawings and papers.”

“I shall be sure to do so,” he fumed. “And now, Senator, if you do not mind, we have funeral arrangements to make on behalf of our departed colleague.”

“Asklepiodes?” I said.

“I have seen enough.” He rose from beside the corpse and we went aside to a corner of the room.

“How long has he been dead?” I asked first.

“No more than two hours. He probably died about the time the banquet was starting.”

“And the weapon?”

“Most peculiar. Iphicrates was killed with an axe.”

“An axe!” I said. This was exceptional. No common dagger for this murderer A few barbarian peoples favored the axe as a weapon, mostly in the East. “Was it a woodman’s axe, or a soldier’s dolabra?”

“Neither. Those have straight or gently convex edges. This weapon has a rather narrow and very deeply curved edge, almost a crescent.”

“What sort of axe is that?” I wondered.

“Come with me,” he said. I followed him from the room, mystified. As far as I knew, he had left his extensive collection of weapons back in Rome. There was a great deal of subdued muttering from the crowd outside as it drew aside for us. Someone fell in beside us.