[SPQR Roman Mysteries 8.5] - An Academic Question Read online

  'And now,' said Rhoecus as the plates were cleared away, the drinking bowl was brought in and the wreaths were passed around, 'we must excuse the young men. All three are in training for the next Isthmian Games and have taken a sacred vow not to touch wine and to be abed within an hour of sunset.'

  Isaeus, Melanthus and Amyntas took their leave respectfully. The elder two had spoken scarcely a dozen words between them since being introduced to me. Although grown epheboi, they were still of an age to keep silence before their elders.

  Rhoecus was elected master of ceremonies. He decreed the wine should be mixed with no more than one-third part water and that each of us should regale the party with a story or song, beginning with me.

  So I gave them the rousing story of Mucius Scaevola, who, when captured by Tarquin the Proud, thrust his own hand into the brazier of coals and did not flinch while it burned to a stump, to show the Etruscans how 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 Rhoecus' house I left Melanthus in conversation with Amyntas and went to my own home. I do not know why my friend has lied about the matter.' He looked at the boy with hurt surprise, which was reciprocated.

  'Clearly,' said the Archon, 'though it grieves me to say it, one of these two noble youths is culpable in this crime. Until we can decide which of them is guilty, both must be placed under arrest.'

  'It was Amyntas!' shouted someone in the crowd. 'We all know how jealous he was of godlike Melanthus!' A distressing faction of the crowd agreed, loudly.

  'My son is innocent!' Rhoecus cried. 'He was the friend of Melanthus!'

  'And Melanthus was my friend!' Isaeus shouted. His cheering section backed him up.

  'May I speak?' I said in my best Forum voice.

  'Senator?' said the Archon. 'What interest have you in this matter?'

  'Noble Athenians,' Serrius said, 'the Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus has a certain reputation in Rome for criminal investigations. He has often acted on behalf of our praetors and brought in many convictions.'

  'Then we would like to hear his observations,' said the Archon. Rhoecus said nothing but when he looked at me there was pleading in his eyes.

  I stepped into the centre of the studio. 'My Athenian friends, I am going to make some observations and demand some actions. I request that none of you ask questions until I am done. First: Isaeus, pick up that shield.' I pointed to the shield of Achilles.

  He shrugged, stooped and grasped the massive thing in both hands. Making a show of it, he raised the bronze disc over his head, his muscles flexing prettily. From the audience came murmurs of admiration, even shouts that this proved his innocence.

  There is an old Greek story that the sculptor Praxiteles, accused of impiety for sculpting the goddess Aphrodite nude for the first time in the history of Greek art, summoned in his defence the model for the statue, the famous courtesan Phryne. Whipping off her gown, he displayed her naked to the jury and demanded how anyone could find impiety in such beauty. Dazzled, the jury voted acquittal. This sort of jurisprudence would never sway a Roman jury, but it seemed to have its adherents in Athens.

  'Amyntas,' I said, 'pick it up.'

  The boy went to the shield, stooped, grasped and struggled to raise it, but could not get it higher than his knees. Defeated, he laid it back on the floor.

  'Amyntas is a promising young man,' I said, 'but unlike Isaeus, he has not yet achieved his full strength.'

  'Why do you go on about the shield?' Isaeus demanded. 'Anyone can see that Melanthus was killed with the helmet, Amyntas would have no trouble picking that up.'

  'Quite true,' I said, picking up the object in question. 'Like the shield it has been cast of thick bronze and designed to last for ages. It probably weighs forty pounds, ten times the weight of a battle helmet. The narrow edge of the arching crest was brought down upon the head of Melanthus from behind. Quite within the physical abilities of this youth.' Isaeus began to smile, but I sobered his face with my next statement: 'The shield, though, provided the motive for this murder.'

  'This will require some explanation, Senator,' said the Archon.

  'Easily provided. One of you —' I pointed to a co
unsellor, a man in the prime of life who kept himself in good condition - 'you, sir. If you please, pick up that shield and set it in its place.'

  Mystified, the man hoisted the shield without too much effort and carried it to the sculpture. With great care he tried to set it in its slot, but the figure's hand was set too low. Now truly puzzled, he stepped back. 'It doesn't fit!'

  'That,' I said, 'is because you, like the rest of Athens, like the models themselves, assumed that Isaeus was to be Achilles.' I turned and pointed theatrically to the beautiful young man. 'You just couldn't wait, could you, Isaeus? You and Melanthus had to come back down here and see how this superb sculpture would look in its full glory, with the shields and helmets in place, with you in the dominant role of Achilles, your superiority immortalised in marble and bronze, surpassing the second-best-looking man in Athens for eternity! I would give much to have seen the look on your face when you discovered that you were to be not Achilles, but Patroclus!'

  The godlike face was stricken. 'But I should have been Achilles! I surpassed Melanthus in everything!'

  Agesander came forward, scandalised. 'Isaeus, your golden hair and swiftness of foot and your touch upon the lyre raised you above your friend in this generation, but what would that mean sculpted in imperishable marble a hundred Olympiads from now? Anyone could see that Melanthus had the stance and physical address of a perfect warrior! Of course he deserved to be Achilles, and you to be his companion, Patroclus.'

  'But you didn't tell your models that, did you?' I said. 'Too bad. Isaeus might have gone off in a huff but Melanthus would be alive and Athens wouldn't be out two contenders for the next Isthmian Games.'

  Guards led the shattered Isaeus off to the local lock-up, followed by a troop of loyal mourners who worshipped him still. Poor Amyntas wept with a combination of relief and grief, and Rhoecus came up and took my hand solemnly. As I said before, it is never a bad thing to have the rich ones on your side.

  These things happened at Athens in the year 703 of the City of Rome, the consulship of Servius Sulpicius Rufus and Marcus Claudius Marcellus.