The Corpus Conundrum by Albert A Bell

Author:Albert A Bell [Bell, Albert A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ingalls Publishing Group, Inc
Published: 2011-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

Mother insisted that Apollodoros have lunch before I asked him any more questions. “You’re so rough on him, Gaius. He needs food and a bath before he has to face you.” With her arm around his shoulder they headed for the kitchen.

“Sir,” Daphne said, “may I see my father’s body?”

“Soon. I’m not ready to let anyone see it yet. Before you tell me ‘all of the truth,’ why you don’t eat something?”

She looked toward the door my mother and Apollodoros had used but didn’t move.

“I’ll have a servant bring you something here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tacitus and I decided to wait on lunch until after we had examined Aristeas further. I’m not bothered by sights that some might consider gruesome—perhaps Tacitus is right about my morbid curiosity—but he tends toward squeamishness.

I asked Macrinus, the butcher on this estate, to accompany us. In addition to slaughtering animals, he acts as a doctor when any of my servants and animals gets hurt. He has an assortment of needles for sewing up wounds. He always wants to investigate and poke around in a wound before he closes it up. My uncle encouraged him to do so.

We wrapped thin cloths saturated with perfume around our mouths and noses and concentrated on the dead man’s throat. I did not want to call attention to the missing raven’s head mark. Tacitus and I would examine that portion of the body later by ourselves.

“He’s spoiling fast, my lord,” the butcher said.

“What do you expect from seven-hundred-year-old meat?” Tacitus muttered, drawing a startled look from Marcrinus and a cautionary glare from me.

“That’s why there’s a funeral pyre being prepared for him,” I said. “I’m not sure when he was killed.”

“It must have been a day ago, my lord. Two, more likely. And this warm weather don’t help none.”

“Can you tell me anything about how he was killed?”

“Well, my lord, his throat was slit.”

“Really?” Tacitus said. “We thought perhaps he’d been drowned.”

“Sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to insult you by being so obvious.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Cornelius Tacitus has an odd sense of humor, which he seems to be indulging today. Can you tell anything about what sort of weapon was used?”

“I would say a knife, my lord, but not a very sharp one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, the edges of the cut are ragged, my lord. If a knife blade isn’t sharp or has a rough spot or a nick on it, it tears more than cuts.”

I knew how uncomfortable it was to be shaved with a razor that wasn’t sharp or had a nick. This poor man had not only been slaughtered like an animal and the blood drained from his body. His killer had hurt him all the more by using a blade with a rough edge. Was it done intentionally?

“All the blood was drained out of the body,” I said. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

“Well, my lord, I watched a Jewish butcher cut up a sheep once. They’ve got all sorts of rules about slaughtering animals.

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