'What?'
'They're slaves, Master. You talk to them as if they were soldiers, or free men in a marketplace. Common slaves like these never tell the truth unless it's forced from them.There's no telling what they know, and no way of getting it except by forcing it out of them. You know what the law says: you can't trust the evidence of a slave unless it's obtained under torture.'
'By that logic, I should begin the torture with you, Aratus. What do you say to that?'
He blanched, not sure whether I was serious or not, I was not quite sure myself.
It may have been hot outside, but it was chilly in my bedroom that night. Bethesda was quietly furious. She consented to put a soothing balm on my scraped elbows and knees and even massaged my shoulders, but when I spoke to her, she wouldn't answer. In our bed she turned her back on me and finally spoke. 'Whatever it is they want from you, give it to them No more headless bodies, do you understand? Swallow your pride and think of your children. And no more foolishness like climbing down wells!'
I did not sleep well that night In my dreams headless phantoms arose from the well and went walking about the fields.
In the morning Meto woke me. His tunic was crooked and his hair was still mussed from sleep. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running. 'Papa, wake up!'
I shrugged his hand away and looked up at him blearily.
'Papa, I know the truth. I woke up knowing it! I just ran out to have a look at his body to make sure’ 'What are you talking about? Ignotus?'
'Not Ignotus, Papa. Not any longer. I know his name, and so do you. Come, I'll show you. I'll prove it to you.'
He waited impatiently while I put on my sandals and slipped a tunic over my shoulders. Bethesda pulled the coverlet over her head.
Meto led the way to the shed, running ahead of me in his eagerness, then waiting for me to catch up. Inside, the body of Ignotus had been laid on a low bench. His odour permeated the little room. He would have to be moved before the sun got much higher, or else we would never get rid of his stench.
'There, Papa, do you see?'
‘What?'
"There, on the back of his left hand!'
I stooped, groaning at the ache in my muscles. The lifeless hand was bent so that I had to twist my head to see the little mark on the back. It was roughly triangular in shape and hardly larger than a coin, of a rich purple colour like the dye of the murex.
'A birthmark’1 acknowledged. 'Yes, I noticed it last night, I thought I would allow you to remark on it, but you never did, and I never got around to mentioning it myself Yes, it could be a valuable bit of evidence if we ever have the chance to identify him.'
'But I already have. Didn't you hear me? I know who it is. When I saw the birthmark last night I knew it reminded me of something, but I couldn't think of what. You kept asking me those either-or questions and it went out of my head. But this morning I woke up remembering. Does that ever happen to you, Papa?'
'I begin every day with great revelations.'
'I'm not joking, Papa. So you don't remember where we've seen that birthmark before? I do!' He seemed very pleased with himself
'If I've ever seen that birthmark before, you're right, I don't remember. But you think you've seen it?' I said sceptically.
'Yes, I know I have, and if you had been observant, so would you. It's Forfex!'
'Forfex?' I muttered, trying to place the name.
'The goatherd over on Mount Argentum. The slave of Gnaeus Claudius, the one who took us to see the old silver mine and hurt his head.'
"The one who took Catilina, you mean. We only went along as an afterthought.' I stared at the birthmark. 'No, I don't remember seeing this mark on the back of his hand.'.
'But I do! I noticed it that day. I remember thinking it looked like a spot of blood, as if he'd pricked himself. When I saw it yesterday I couldn't place the memory, but this morning I woke up remembering. I thought you surely would have noticed, too. You notice everything, Papa.'
'Forfex!' I remembered the slave's wheedling manner and the panic that had driven him from the mine, the blood streaming from his head and his master's displeasure. I shook my head doubtfully. 'Is there anything else to identify him?' I studied the body. It was roughly of the same age as Forfex, and roughly the same size, and of the right colouration. The dead flesh before us was so horribly different from the living slave who had taken us up the mountain that I could hardly reconcile the transformation, though the same might be said of any man and the corpse he becomes.
'And the marks on his back, Papa! Do you remember how Gnaeus Claudius began to beat him as we were departing? He's the type of master who would beat his slaves often, don't you think? So it's no surprise to see all those scars on Forfex's back.'
'Yes, I remember the beating. But not the birthmark…'
'Well, what does it matter, so long as one of us remembers it? The important thing is that now we know who he was, and where his body came from. It's Forfex, and somehow he came here from Gnaeus Claudius's estate.'
'If we could only be sure of that…'
'But we can be! How could two different men have exactly the same birthmark? It must be Forfex, don't you see?' He smiled at me expectandy, then frowned when he saw the lingering doubt on my face. 'You don't believe me, do you, Papa?'
'No, it's not that…'
'You don't trust my memory. You doubt my judgment.' 'If you truly remembered me birthmark, why did you not recall it last night?'
'Because last night was—' He sought for the words and could not find them 'Because I didn't, that's all! But I do now.'
'Meto, memory changes over time and can't always be trusted—' 'Oh, Papa, you always have a saying for everything.' He was quite angry. 'If it were Eco telling you this instead of me, you'd believe him in an instant! You wouldn't doubt him at all'
I took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps.' Because Eco is Eco, and you are you, I wanted to say.
'You're jealous!' said Meto. 'What?’
'Yes, because you don't remember it yourself. You never noticed the birthmark at all, you weren't observant enough, but I was. Or else you noticed and then you forgot, but I noticed and I remembered! For once my eyes and my memory are sharper than yours, and you won't admit it!'
This accusation struck me as quite absurd. It only offered more proof, if any were needed, that Meto was still more a boy than a man. Even so, I felt a slight prickle of unease. What can be worse, for a man of my age, than to begin to doubt his own judgment?
It was possible, of course, that Meto was right — that he had seen the birthmark on Foxfex's hand, had forgotten it until this morning, and now had proof of the slave's identity. If that was so, then I would be obliged to demand an explanation from Gnaeus Claudius. But what if Meto was mistaken? What if he had seized upon a false memory and now clung to it out of pride? How far could I press my complaint against Gnaeus based on Meto's memory, which I myself mistrusted?
And if it was Forfex — what then? Had Gnaeus Claudius been responsible for putting Nemo in my stable, as well? Who among the slaves had helped him? Was his motive merely to harass me, to drive me from the farm? What of the link with Catilina's riddle — could it be mere coincidence? Or was the more inexplicable coincidence that fact that Catilina and Forfex had known and dealt with each other? Even if the body belonged to Forfex, the link might run not to his master but to Catilina — or by extension to Marcus Caelius — or to Cicero…
I found my thoughts racing in the same rutted circles they had worn since we discovered Nemo. Had I always been so helpless at thinking things through, and was Meto right to imply that I had become dull and careless? I was not a young man any longer, and while there are those whose minds grow sharper with age, there are plenty of people for whom the opposite is true.
I realized I had been staring intently for several moments at the purple mark on the corpse's hand. I looked up to see that Meto was watching me, his arms tightly crossed, his eyes narrowed, his foot tapping the ground, waiting for me to respond.
'For now,' I said quietly, 'we shall assume that Ignotus is Forfex. If
Gnaeus Claudius is responsible, we may expect that he will disclaim responsibility, so first we should attempt to get the truth from his slaves, if we can.'
I had not realized how tense Meto had been until he loosened his shoulders and stopped clutching his arms. I thought he might smile at his little triumph, but instead he looked closer to tears. 'You'll see, Papa,' he said in a very earnest voice. 'You'll see that I'm right and I do remember.'
'I hope so,'I said, but I still doubted.
XXV