The Tribune's Curse(56)

“You may have consulted the wrong man, Decius,” said Asklepiodes. “I treat the gladiators, not the bestiarii. ” He referred to the men whose specialty it was to fight wild animals in the Games. It was a much lower calling than that of swordsman.

“Do you think it was an animal? Caesti and spiked clubs can leave wounds similar to these.”

“Who is the expert here?” he said, testily. “Actually, I think it might be several animals. There are claw marks and teeth marks, and there is a wound here,” he indicated a huge slash that slanted across the unfortunate man’s ribs, “that looks like it was made by a great whip.” He bent closer and had his slaves turn the body over on its belly. “There are other marks here, cuts and—” he mumbled some foreign words, and one of the slaves probed delicately at a bloody depression on the back of the skull “—a depressed fracture that might have been made by a club. It is as if he was attacked with weapons from behind and by beasts from in front.”

“Like a condemned man pushed to the lions by men with spears?”

“Possibly, although these attacks from behind were more than mere proddings. How did this man come to rate so colorful and thorough a demise?”

I gave him an abbreviated version of the story, leaving out, of course, the part about the Secret Name of Rome.

“Ahh,” he said, clapping his palms together with delight at so utterly bizarre a story. “This is far better than the usual sordid murder for gain or for revenge. It is like something from one of the dramas,” he waved a hand toward the stage, where the actors still pranced through their paces. “In fact, thinking of them,” his face grew more solemn, “if I were a more religious man, or one more superstitiously inclined—” he let it taper off portentously.

“Then what?” I urged.

“The man committed a great offense against the gods. In the ancient tales immortalized in the great plays, the gods reserve an especially terrible punishment for those who offend them greatly.”

Against all reason, fear gripped my bowels. “You can’t mean the Fur—”

He held up an admonitory finger to silence me. “I mean, sometimes they release the Friendly Ones from the underworld to torment the sinner to his death.” He used the famous euphemism because to speak the name of those horrid creatures was to attract their attention. “These spirits of divine vengeance are said to be provided with natural weapons sufficient to wreak the sort of damage we see here.” He waved a hand airily. “That is, I might speculate thus were I of a superstitious turn of mind.”

His little qualification was too late for some of us. At his first suggestion the thugs were backing away from the otherwise inoffensive corpse, their eyes bugging out with dread. Two of them whirled and ran toward the exits so ingeniously designed to fill and empty the theater with greatest dispatch. Wonderful, I thought. Before nightfall, the City would be swept by yet another rumor: the Friendly Ones were loose in Rome!

“And I had always thought you the most rational of men,” I said.

“And so I am. I simply did not wish to leave any possibility unexplored.”

“I see. Well, leaving aside for the moment the nature of the creature that attacked him and adhering as closely as possible to mundane precepts, can you tell me anything at all about how he died?”

“To begin, he was probably not killed where he was found.”

“Why not?”

“He has been dead for at least two days, possibly as long as three. The cool weather has helped. In summer he would be very offensive by now.”

“He isn’t good company as it is, but I take your point.”

“He is largely drained of blood, as is only to be expected with such extensive wounds. These marks around his wrists,” he indicated livid lines encircling both joints, “indicate that he was bound at one point and struggling against his bonds.”

“That means there were at least two assailants,” I mused.

“Unless he cooperated in his binding, I would think that to be the case. It is not unheard of, but I would think it doubtful in this case. That, however, is your realm of expertise. And that,” he said, straightening, “is as much as I can tell you at this time. I shall consult with my colleague who tends to the wounds of the bestiarii, and, if I learn anything of value, I shall get word to you.”

“I am grateful for all your help.”

He waved my thanks aside. “The entertainment alone is worth the effort. This is much more interesting than stitching up conventional lacerations. In the course of your campaigning in Gaul, did you happen to encounter any unfamiliar weapons, anything capable of inflicting unusual wounds?”