The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits (56 page)

Sannio replied that we knew as much, but that we hoped to find the book at one of the places he had visited the day he died. At this the landlady shook her head, and asserted that she had not seen Achilles that month. Sannio thanked her, then, lowering his voice, asked if she knew anything about what had happened, “For,” he said, “I wouldn’t like to meet the ones that did it.”

At this the whole tavern assailed us with gruesome accounts of robberies and murders, until one would think the streets of Rome more deadly than the arena, but it was instantly clear that not one of them knew any details about Achilles’ fate. Sannio exclaimed and thanked them all, and we made our way to the next insalubrious den to repeat our inquiries.

In the second tavern we had no better fortune and I despaired of learning anything; however, in the third, which was the last of those named by Sannio’s informants, the host indicated in doubtful and obscure terms that he might know something about the subject of our inquiry. At this Sannio advised me to offer money, and with this inducement the host informed us that Achilles had indeed been in the tavern the day before, at about noon, and that he had had two men with him, who had been paying for the wine. He had seen the three of them together before, he said, on several previous days. He claimed not to know the names of Achilles’ companions, but said that they were frequent visitors to the wineshop, and that, indeed, he would be surprised if they failed to come that very evening.

I was elated with this success, and at once proposed to the tavern-keeper that he allot us a private booth, so that we had a peaceful place in which to wait for these two men. In fact I hoped to observe them unseen before deciding whether or not to question them. If, after seeing them, I judged that a bold approach would be ill-advised, Sannio and I could still
follow them when they left the wineshop and thus learn who they were.

The tavern-keeper readily agreed to my proposal, for a further monetary inducement, and Sannio and I were soon seated in a malodorous booth behind a curtain, the sort which prostitutes use when entertaining their clients. Sannio asked the attendant for wine, a small trespass on my purse which I in my good humour overlooked.

We had been there only a short while, however, when a number of men burst in with drawn knives, glaring with savage eyes. The tavern-keeper at once indicated with his nodding head the curtain behind which we were concealed, and the men turned towards us. I was still gazing at them in stupefaction, wondering how this had come to pass and how I might defend myself, when they tore aside the curtain. At this I set myself to sell my life dearly, but, as the law requires, I was unarmed, and the bandits, assaulting me with barbaric violence, soon overcame me. Then they dragged me from the tavern with many curses, and forced me in haste along the street.

It was by this time perfectly dark, about the second hour of the night, and I was at first unsure in what direction we were hastening, but presently I noted a familiar landmark, and understood that we were approaching the house of Anicius Paulinus – which, as I have said, lay near to that of Symmachus in the area of Rome known as Transtibertina. I was filled with despair, for I deduced that the keeper of the tavern was a client or tenant of the Anicii, and for that reason must have sent to his patron the news that someone was inquiring into the death of the slave Achilles. This lawless response revealed how unwilling the Anicii were to have the circumstances of that murder made public.

My assailants dragged me into the house, and with many blows and curses led me through a spacious courtyard
adorned with gilded statues of a multitude of Anician ancestors. Presently we came to the dining room, and there they cast me on the floor and stood about me threateningly. Half-stunned, I gathered myself up as well as I could, and found that I was in the presence of Anicius Paulinus. He frowned at me disdainfully and greeted me with these words, “The Greek historian!”

I became aware only then that Sannio was not with me. I was uncertain whether or not to regard this as fortunate, for the assault had so confused me that I did not know whether Eutherius’ slave had escaped or whether he had been killed. I was nonetheless filled with a hope that he had escaped and might summon help – though as to that, I was unsure what help could benefit me, caught as I was in that den of the many-formed Chimaera.

Paulinus began to question me, demanding to know why I had been inquiring into the death of Symmachus’ slave. I answered boldly, asking what affair that was of his, but at this one of his people struck me, cursing me as insolent and interfering.

In the hope of preserving my life, I attempted craft, imagining that if Paulinus thought me innocent of any suspicion he might order his people to release me. I protested that I had not been inquiring into the death of Achilles, but had merely been looking for a book which I supposed that the slave had been carrying back to his master when he was killed.

Paulinus, however, ordered his people to strike me again. “You know very well,” he declared, “that the slave was not carrying a book or anything else from your hand. He had been sent to Claudius Adelphius with a letter.”

At this I saw that he had put aside any pretence, and I understood that he must have already fixed upon my death. I resolved to speak nothing but the truth, for the perfection of truth is always simple, and may be grasped in pain and
confusion where the complexity of lies slips away. “I was seeking to learn how the slave died,” I told him, “because I suspected he might have been killed for the letter he was carrying, and feared that you might have conceived a plot against my friend Symmachus.”

Paulinus smiled and said, “And so indeed we have,” as though it were a matter for boasts rather than for shame.

Outraged at his arrogance, I asked Paulinus what the ancient consuls and tribunes whose statues lined the courtyard would have made of his lawless proceeding. At this he was enraged, and he commanded his slaves to beat me. I strove to endure it like a philosopher and a soldier.

When at length they stopped, Paulinus commanded them to give me wine, for I was dazed and incapable of speech. As soon as I had recovered sufficiently, though, he asked me whether Symmachus was aware of what I had been doing. I answered truthfully that I had tried to warn Symmachus of his danger, but that he had dismissed it.

“You were acting on your own, then?” Paulinus asked, elated with the thought that he might protect his plan merely by having me put to death.

“No,” I told him, “I have had help from Eutherius. It was his slave who was with me when your people seized me.”

At this Paulinus regarded me in consternation, as one who receives news of an overthrow. An imperial chamberlain, even one who has retired from his office, can by no means be treated negligently. Even where some one of the chamberlains has been guilty of a manifest crime, still his fellows have been able to work upon the emperor and contrive by one shift or another that their friend escapes justice. Anyone who wrongs a chamberlain, however, can be certain that the matter will fly directly to the emperor’s ears. Paulinus was well aware that if Eutherius wished to accuse him of conspiracy, not even Probus could protect him.

Paulinus cried out indignantly that I was lying, and that Eutherius knew nothing of what I was about. I was much encouraged, however, that he did not boast that the slave who had accompanied me was dead. I set my resolve and swore by the divine power that it was true. At this Paulinus ordered his men to beat me again; however, they had barely begun when I became aware that one of Paulinus’ slaves had come into the room and was announcing that the most illustrious Eutherius requested admittance.

Paulinus was still hesitating over what order to give regarding the eunuch, when Eutherius himself came in. Sannio was with him. Eutherius showed no surprise at the abject state to which my tormenters had reduced me, but Sannio cried out and hurried to help me up, then led me to one of the dining couches.

“I told your doorkeepers that they would not wish to strike an imperial chamberlain,” said Eutherius, smiling mildly at Paulinus, “and they agreed. Do take note, my friend, that all my household know that I am here.”

Paulinus was so overcome that he could not speak, and merely stood glaring at Eutherius. Sannio, meanwhile, began cleaning my injuries with a napkin dipped in wine, an attention for which I was deeply grateful.

“I perceive from your reception of my friend Ammianus,” Eutherius continued, “that his suspicions were indeed well-founded.”

At this Paulinus recovered himself enough to protest that Eutherius should not trespass in a private house in order to interfere in a private quarrel.

“And when did you quarrel with Ammianus?” Eutherius asked him, still in a mild tone. “It cannot have been over some public affront, for then I would have heard of it. If it was a private offence, though, then you must have invited him to be your guest here before, because he has no interests
or business commitments which coincide with yours. And if so, is this how you treat your guests?”

Paulinus ground his teeth in rage, but found himself at a loss: to a nobleman of such distinction, the accusation of failing in hospitality to a guest is more shaming than that of murdering a rival. At last he flung up his hands and told Eutherius to take me and to go.

“I shall do so,” said Eutherius. “But I ask first that you return the letter which the prefect of the city wrote to his friend Claudius Adelphius, which you intercepted.”

Paulinus at first began to protest, but then, realizing that he had been betrayed by his own mouth and conduct, yielded and said sullenly that he had given the letter to his cousin Anicius Bassus, but that he would instruct Bassus to return it the following day.

“So Bassus was involved as well?” asked Eutherius. “Who else?”

Paulinus, however, did not answer except to curse him. “The letter will be returned,” he declared. “There has been no crime committed, unless you choose to regard as a crime my quarrel with your Greek friend.”

“A slave was murdered,” Eutherius reminded him.

This Paulinus dismissed, and said, “A slave of mine lost his temper. They are all worthless scoundrels, so what is one to do with them? If the man does anything similar again, I will have him punished.”

Eutherius heard this in contemptuous silence, and did not dignify it with a reply. Instead he ordered Sannio to help me to my feet. As we left, he turned again to Paulinus and said, “I expect to hear that the letter has been returned to the prefect tomorrow.”

Paulinus spat, but did not hinder our departure.

It was with great joy that I left that fatal house. Eutherius had a covered litter waiting in the street outside, and to my
great relief I was able to rest my aching limbs beside him as the bearers carried us swiftly away. The eunuch kindly invited me to rest the night in his house, but I asked if he would instead take me to my own lodgings, for I longed for the comfort of my own bed and the care of my own household. To this he at once agreed, and gave the necessary orders to his bearers.

As we were borne swiftly across the city, I asked Eutherius if he believed that Paulinus would indeed return the letter.

“I am assured of it,” he replied sadly, “for, as he says, once he has returned it, he evades the charge of having conspired against Symmachus. That is the only crime which he has committed which could put him in any danger: the rest he can simply shrug off. My friend, I know that he has behaved towards you like some Isaurian bandit, but, truly, if you try to bring him to account for it I would fear for your life. He would undoubtedly invent some story to discredit you, and enlist clients to perjure themselves on his behalf, and in the end you would be lucky to escape without worse harm than you have suffered already. As for poor Achilles, you know as well as I that Anicius Paulinus would not be punished for a slave’s death even if it were to be proved that he committed the murder with his own hand. Most likely, though, he never intended more than the theft of the letter, and spoke the truth when he said that one of his own men lost his temper.”

I was surprised at this, and Eutherius explained, “Sannio has told me what you learned in the tavern. Probably the tavernkeeper told you the truth, if only a partial truth, for he would have found it safer to say nothing that another person in the tavern might contradict. I suspect that Achilles agreed to let Paulinus’ men read his master’s letter in exchange for drink; indeed, probably he had done so several times before. I expect they used some pretext such as wanting information to use in gambling on the outcome of the prefectural games,
and he saw no great harm in it. However, when they saw that this letter was one which their master could use, they tried to take it from him. At that he would have become afraid, either because he realized they meant harm to his master, or else merely because he knew he would be punished for losing a letter. Probably he tried to seize the letter back and flee with it, and Paulinus’ men grew angry and used violence to stop him. Paulinus could not have intended that: it attracted attention to the matter. If Achilles merely came home saying he had been robbed, not even you would have felt any concern about it – and Achilles would be very unlikely to confess the whole truth to his master when he would escape more lightly by claiming to have been set upon by thieves.”

“You understand slaves well,” I told him, impressed by this reasoning.

“I have been a slave,” he replied simply.

I was startled by this, though on reflection I realized that it was to be expected in a eunuch. I afterwards learned that Eutherius had been freeborn in Armenia, but while he was still a small child he had been captured by a hostile neighbouring tribe, who castrated him and sold him to some Roman merchants, and he had grown up a slave in Constantine’s palace. It was a tribute to the nobility of his character that he had nevertheless remained – as I had come to appreciate – a man devoted to virtue, always eager to render kindness to those around him.

We arrived at my apartments, and, since my lodgings were on an upper floor, Eutherius sent Sannio to fetch help for me from my household, since I was weak from my ordeal and unable to face the stairs unaided. He offered to send his own physician to attend me. I thanked him, but told him that I thought I had suffered no lasting harm and indeed had received worse injuries in falls while riding.