John Maddox Roberts - [SPQR Roman Mysteries 8.5] - An Academic Question Read Free Page A

contemptuous the Romans were of death and torture. I received polite applause. It is often better to make a point with foreigners than to please them.
    'A very - ah, how shall I say - Roman story,' commended Rhoecus. 'And now, Neacles?'
    The old man made a production of tuning his lyre and graced us with a wonderful song in praise of Apollo. This, someone whispered to me, was the song with which Neacles had taken the Olympic prize twenty years before.
    The applause was just dying down when a slave rushed in, breathless and bug-eyed.
    'Murder!' he cried. 'Murder at the studio of Agesander!'
    'Who is this?' I asked.
    'Why,' Agesander said, 'this is one of my slaves. What are you babbling about, you fool? Are you drunk? If so, I'll have the hide off your back!'
    'No! It is murder! Come look!' The man appeared to be some sort of Asiatic, and in his agitation he forgot his Greek and lapsed into his native gibberish.
    'We had better go look,' Rhoecus said. Everyone rose, doffing their wreaths and looking about for their sandals. I was last out the door, first dipping another cup of wine and draining it. I winced at the taste of the resin Greeks use so excessively in their wine. It never kept me from drinking it though.
    Back at the studio, our torches illuminated a dismal scene. At the base of the wonderful sculpture a corpse lay, facedown, its dark hair bloodied. At the order of Agesander, slaves turned him over, revealing the handsome features of Melanthus. It looked as if the evening would be livelier than I had anticipated.
    'My friends,' Rhoecus said sadly, 'I fear that we must summon the city Archon and the leading men. Somebody fetch Isaeus and my son as well.'
    'Don't forget the Roman governor,' I said, reminding them of who had the real power here.
    While various slaves and flunkies scurried to carry out these orders, I examined the studio. All was much as we had left it, save that the shield of Achilles now lay face-down on the floor and one of the helmets lay near it. I squatted by the helmet and looked it over. The bronze crest was clotted with blood and hair. It had been the murder weapon.
    Grasping an edge of the shield, I rocked it. It moved ponderously. It was not a battle shield, made of wood and faced with thin bronze. It was a piece of sculpture, made of solid bronze and as thick as a man's palm. Crossing to the statue, I examined the position of the hands. Below each was a slot cut into the pedestal and artfully disguised by carved grass. The lower rims of the shields would rest in these slots. By the time I finished my examination quite a throng had gathered, many of the men still wearing wreaths from interrupted drinking bouts. As word of the victim's identity spread their mood turned ugly. One of the city's most promising youths had been murdered.
    In short order the city's Archon arrived, along with his board of counsellors, all distinguished men. Serrius arrived, and I was happy to see that he had foresightedly brought a strong guard of auxiliaries from the Greek levies. The Archon called for silence.
    'We must have an orderly presentation of the evidence,' said the white-bearded elder. 'I call upon all to remain calm. Who last saw this man alive?'
    Rhoecus came forward and gave an account of our dinner party and how the young men had withdrawn before the symposium. He spoke with a philosopher's impassivity but I could see the worry on his face. I didn't blame him.
    'Isaeus son of Diocles and Amyntas son of Rhoecus,' the Archon said, 'come forward.' I had to hand it to them, these Athenians knew how to conduct a proper inquest. The two young men came forward. Both produced very convincing cries and tears upon seeing the bloody corpse of their late friend.
    'Amyntas,' said the Archon, 'tell us how you last saw Melanthus.'
    'It was at my father's house!' the boy said through his tears. 'I bid Isaeus and Melanthus goodnight at the door and went to my room to sleep, I swear it!'
    'Isaeus?'
    'Why, at the door of