“Well, obviously she didn’t want me killed,” I said.
“Unless the arrow really was poisoned. How are you feeling?”
“She just wanted to distract me. What were we talking about?” The incident had come as such a shock that I had actually forgotten.
“You’d just brought up Servilia’s name.”
“So that’s what she doesn’t want to talk about. It could be for a number of reasons. For one, if Caesar really has taken back up with Servilia, it could be a very sore point with Cleopatra.” I rubbed my nose again. “Still, this seems a bit extreme, just to avoid an unpleasant subject.”
“She may be planning to kill Servilia.”
“That would be a good reason to want to avoid talking about her,” I agreed. “Or maybe the two of them are up to something together.” We walked toward the Sublician Bridge and the City proper. “I wish Caesar wasn’t so addicted to dangerous women.”
“It’s a fault you’ve shown from time to time,” he pointed out.
“Don’t remind me.”
Before reaching the bridge we called at the Statilian ludus, where some of Italy’s best gladiators trained. Some claimed that the Campanian schools were better, and they certainly had a longer history, but the old Statilian school turned out fighters as fine as any I ever saw. We went to the hospital and found Asklepiodes standing behind a seated trainee.
“Ah, Senator, come in,” he said. “Look at this.” We stepped close and I saw that he had drawn little circles on the back of the young man’s neck corresponding to the red marks we had seen on the backs of the two victims’ necks. “Observe, we have two marks to the left of the spinal column, two corresponding marks somewhat lower to the right side. Now look.” He placed the two first knuckles of each hand against the circles. The correspondence was perfect.
“Were their necks broken with a two-fisted punch?” I asked him. “I’ve never seen such a blow.”
“I think not. It would be a stunning blow, but it would just knock the man forward. I cannot see how it could apply enough leverage to make the vertebrae shear and dislocate in such a way. I’ve had the pugilism instructors here and questioned them about it. They say the same thing. Such a blow could break a neck only under freakish circumstances, and your murderer accomplished the feat twice in a row. No, we are dealing here with a deadly art of which I was utterly unaware.”
“Perhaps when we’ve solved this business you’ll get a good philosophical paper out of it.”
“I intend to,” the little Greek said. “It will make me the envy of many of my colleagues. We so seldom come across something new in the methodology of killing.”
“There are others like you?” I asked.
“Oh, certainly. Just as some physicians specialize in particular diseases and conditions, there are a few of us who specialize in deadly violence and its effects upon the human body. Polygonus of Caria, for instance, and Timonides the Paphlagonian. We are a small but enthusiastic body of scholars.”
“And I thank the gods that we have you,” I assured him.
“There must have been some means of applying leverage,” he said.
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“There must have been something to immobilize the neck while pressure was brought to bear from the rear. It is the only thing that makes any sense. I would suspect a garotte, but there were no ligature marks on their necks.”
“It is a puzzle,” I agreed. “Keep working on it. Oh, I wished to ask you about something. You may have noticed the somewhat damaged condition of my nose.”
“I had taken note of your disfigurement, but thought it indiscreet to inquire.”
“Well, nothing particularly embarrassing about it. But it was caused by an arrow.”
“We don’t see many such injuries here in Rome,” he said.
“Indeed. I was just wondering, is there any way to tell if an arrow was poisoned?”
“Surely. If it was poisoned you will die a lingering and horribly painful death.”
“But short of that?” I asked.
“I would not worry about it. Arrows are rarely poisoned, though everybody seems to think they always are. Poison would cause immediate inflammation and I see none in your majestic proboscis.”
“Excellent,” I said, relieved.
Of course, it was the first thing Julia noticed when I got home. “You’ve been fighting again!” she accused as we walked in.
“Nothing of the sort. I am the victim this time.” I threw off my toga and a servant caught it expertly.
“So what happened?”