Dark Omens

by Rosemary Rowe

  That caught my interest, of course. ‘If there’s no head, then how can they be sure it is the priest?’ I said, wondering if it might be Genialis after all.

  ‘There are lots of theories about that, but I believe it was the sandals that they recognized. A very fancy pair. That’s what brought the peasant rushing into town. He thought he’d seen the old priest wearing them – and the temple sent slaves out to verify the fact. They must have done so, because they brought the body back this very afternoon. There won’t be a big state funeral, I understand – that would take some time to organize and they want to cleanse the temple as fast as possible. It’s an evil augury to have only half a corpse. Looks as if he found his way into a frozen ditch and drowned: he was lying head downwards in the ice. Everyone is saying it is the curse, of course.’

  ‘So what happened to the rest of him?’ I said, half to myself.

  The money-lender shrugged. ‘The gods alone know, citizen. Looked as it if had been hacked away or gnawed – though his clothes were still there with him, mostly floating underneath the ice. Apparently they’ve brought those back as well. Perhaps a wolf or something got the rest of him. And that is all I know.’ He made a lunge towards the coin.

  I pulled it back and held it high above his reach. ‘An underwater wolf?’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe that, townsman, any more than you! Though I suppose it might be Druids. Have they thought of that?’ The old religion had been banned of course, but there had been Druid rebels active hereabouts – often targeting the Roman soldiery and hewing off their heads to hang in sacred groves, as an offering to the woodland gods. ‘A priest might be a target for them, I suppose.’

  The money-lender stared at me as though I were insane. ‘When did Druids ever hack off more than just the head? Or leave a body where it would not instantly be found? I told you, citizen, it is the curse at work. Mind you, it’s my belief he brought it on himself. The man was old and sick, by all accounts, and should have been retired from the priesthood long ago. Couldn’t be relied upon to perform the rituals. I wasn’t at the sacrifice, of course – I’m not a citizen – but I’ve heard it was his fault that it had to be postponed.’

  I nodded. ‘He let the ram get free and spoil the sacrifice.’

  He spat on his finger and rubbed his ear with it then fingered a good-luck amulet that he wore round his wrist. ‘Well, if he did offend the gods, he’s paid the price for it. And so will we, if we keep on like this. I said before, one can attract a curse by dwelling on its power.’

  I was no longer listening. I was trying to make sense of all that I’d just heard. ‘It can’t have been the same body that Cantalarius saw,’ I said, scarcely aware that I had said the words aloud. ‘That was days ago, before the feast. So there must have been two separate corpses at the pond. I wonder if that earlier one was Gen …?’ I shook my head. ‘That can’t be so; the body was being rescued then by passers-by, so if it had been a wealthy Roman in a toga we would have heard of it. Someone would have wanted a reward – just like that peasant who came running in today.’

  But I had dropped my guard. The money-lender made a lunge and seized the coin, and – even before I could protest – he had bent down and snatched up his cushion and his box and was scuttling away across the forum, his coloured head-scarf bobbing as he ran.

  FOURTEEN

  For a moment I stood there, staring after him.

  Of it course it was possible that his shocking information was only partly true: some half-heard story that had spread around the town, getting more and more distorted as it went. Or it might be a confusion of different incidents – after all there had been a body at the pond some day before. Everybody knows how rumours alter as they spread.

  And then it struck me. Why was I supposing the same pool was involved? The money-lender hadn’t mentioned where the corpse was found. I was beginning to conflate the two events myself. This was probably not even on the southern side of the town. Though, come to think of it, if the body was the priest’s, I thought I knew a reason why he might have gone that way.

  I shook my head. I could not really credit that the corpse was his. A priest does not go missing from the temple unobserved – he would always have an acolyte or slave attending him. Besides, he’d been alive and active only yesterday, talking to Cantalarius in the afternoon – no doubt there would be witnesses to that – so even if he had died overnight, how he could be half-eaten in so short a time? Unless there really was a curse, of course.

  But I didn’t honestly believe there was a curse at all. Call me cynical, but when there’s a violent death that’s unexplained, I usually suspect a human cause. This began to look like murder, and a nasty one at that. But who would want to murder a harmless, rather doddering, ancient priest – let alone divide his corpse up afterwards? And – more important – who would ever dare? The earthly penalties for such an act were terrible enough, but nothing compared to the almost certain retribution by the gods. Even rebel Druids would baulk at such a thought.

  In fact if half a body had been found today, I thought, perhaps it was really Genialis after all. I could invent a plausible story to account for that. Suppose, for instance, that he’d fallen off his horse, been found by the wayside by a pack of starving wolves, dragged into a snow-drift while they were eating him and then abandoned when they were frightened off? That would make more sense of the timetable at least. And it was just possible. A pair of fancy sandals were no proof of anything, whatever the members of the temple said. Genialis, I remembered, had fancy sandals too.

  There was one obvious flaw in this convenient theory, though. If this was Genialis, what had happened to the priest? Presumably he wasn’t at the temple now, or no one would ever have supposed that the legs and feet were his. But how could he have got out unobserved? Surely he would never have set off alone for Cantalarius’s farm, and in the dark – since he was missed before the morning sacrifice at dawn? Or had he, for some reason, done exactly that? In which case, was it possible the rumours were all true and was this really the corpse of the old sacerdos, foiling my poor neighbour’s hoped-for sacrifice again?

  My mind was going in circles. I was back where I began. It was obvious I must discover more.

  My first thought was to call into the temple and enquire. For one thing, I could ask about the movements of the priest and find out, for instance, who had seen him last; and for another I might even get a look at the remains – if they really had been brought there as the money-lender thought. That would settle the question of whose legs they were – Genialis was much stouter than the skinny priest. But wouldn’t the temple have noticed such a thing themselves, if the wrong body had been brought to them? Well, there was only one way to find out.

  I hurried to the temple, but as I climbed the steps I found my way was courteously barred. An apologetic but determined temple slave had stepped out from between the pillars and was standing in my path – quite deliberately to stop me getting in. It was not difficult for him to do. He was a man of vast proportions: not quite the tallest person I had ever seen, nor quite the widest either, but approximating both. He was olive-skinned and looked as if he’d once been beautiful – though now his neck and arms were wreathed in folds of fat – and he was resplendent in his dark-red temple slave tunic.

  So it was rather like encountering a hill in uniform, as he appeared in front of me, blocking my view and saying in a strangely high and piping voice, ‘I’m sorry, citizen. The shrine is closed today.’

  I tried to see round him, but he moved to block my view. ‘But I have business …’ I protested.

  He shook his head, jangling the golden hoops that dangled from his ears, and folded his huge arms across his chest. ‘No entrance is permitted this evening, I’m afraid. There’s been a tragic incident and the necessary rituals of cleansing are taking place. I don’t know when the temple will be functioning again. There’ll be a formal announcement on these steps tomorrow at midday. Other shrines are open if you wish to purchas
e votive offerings. If you have a prayer or curse tablet that you particularly want to present to one of our three Capitoline gods, and you are in a hurry, I can attend to that for you – or deal with any donation that you hope to make.’

  ‘I’m only here to make enquiries,’ I said, still trying to peer around his massive bulk, though without success. Whatever was going on in the shrine, one couldn’t see from here. ‘The old priest of Diana – I hear his body was discovered in a pond?’

  ‘I can’t confirm that nor deny it. My orders are quite clear. I must not encourage rumours!’ This was clearly intended as serious rebuke, but in that childish treble voice it was rather laughable. ‘A full public statement will be issued in due course.’

  ‘I ask because a neighbour of mine was expecting the priest to call on him today,’ I said, adopting a duly apologetic tone. ‘To officiate at a different cleansing ritual. I understand that some donation to the temple had been made, on the understanding that the priest would come. But, of course, if something dreadful befell him on the way …’ I let the words trail off.

  The mountain inclined a little towards me at the waist. ‘I think there’s some mistake. He did have a visit from a supplicant yesterday, I know, offering donations to the shrine and hoping he would undertake some private offerings – he was boasting about it in the courtyard afterwards. But he had no duties outside the shrine today – none, at least, of which we servants were informed. He was expected, as usual, at the morning rituals …’

  ‘Expected?’ I echoed. ‘So he did not appear? So he is missing! I imagine the alarm was raised at once? You say he did not attend the morning rituals? So people have been searching ever since first light?’

  A faint pink tone suffused the olive face. ‘Not entirely, citizen.’ He looked furtively to either side then leaned a little closer and said, confidentially, ‘He was elderly, you see, and did sometimes miss the early sacrifice. But then it was time to break our fast and eat the offerings – you know that when the gods have had their share, the rest often is taken to the kitchens to be cooked and then distributed among the priests and temple staff – and that was something that he did like to attend. But when they sent to fetch him, he could not be found. His cell was empty and his bed appeared unused – though he was there long after vespers, I can vouch for that myself. I saw him standing at the window of his cell.’

  ‘What was he doing at that time of night?’ I matched his tone. ‘Watching for someone? Did he seem in distress? Or didn’t he tell you?’

  The mountain shook his massive head reproachfully, making the earrings jangle even more. ‘Of course not, citizen. There was no distress at all. I could see what he was doing. He was praying to the moon. Perfectly normal – he was a priest of Luna, after all.’

  I nodded. ‘And of Diana and Fortuna, I believe. Of course Diana has always been connected with the moon.’

  ‘Exactly!’ the slave replied. ‘So I was not surprised. The night was bright and cloudless and he’d thrown back the shutters – though it was very cold – and was doing his nightly devotions in the dark. He was old, of course, and not as scrupulous at rituals as perhaps he used to be, but he was still a servant of his deities. So of course I did not speak to him – I would not have dared disturb him at his prayers.’

  ‘But you’re quite certain that you saw him then?’

  ‘There is no doubt of that. I’ve seen him lots of times, before. Last night I was crossing to the shrine of Jupiter to set the altar fire for the morning ritual and I could see him clearly, in the window space, worshipping the goddess with his arms outspread – just as he always did. It has occurred to me before that it might be dangerous – standing for a long time in the cold like that, at his age, in this weather, without a cloak and hood – but it’s not my place to say anything, of course, and obviously I couldn’t interrupt him at such moments anyway. But then, when they found him later, dead and frozen in the ice – you can see that it seemed like a kind of irony.’

  ‘So they did find his body head-down in a pool? And was he half-missing, as the rumours say?’

  He straightened up abruptly and reverted to his former tone, brisk and official. ‘You may deduce that if you care to, citizen. You did not hear it from me.’ His high voice was even squeakier than before. ‘I know my duty. I am saying nothing more. The temple will make a formal announcement on the steps, when there is agreement on exactly what occurred and what is the best way in which we might proceed. They have called in the augurers to consult the birds. Now, citizen, I think this conversation has lasted long enough.’ He took a single step towards me as he spoke.

  I don’t know what I thought that he might do – pick me up and carry me bodily down the steps, perhaps, or call for reinforcements to summon the town watch and have me dragged off to the city jail – but I judged that it was prudent to retreat.

  ‘I am sorry to have troubled you at an unfortunate time,’ I said, with a pretence at due humility. ‘I’ll try to come tomorrow and hear this statement read.’ With that I backed respectfully away, till I had reached the steps, then turned and hurried down them into the street again.

  The huge slave watched me for a moment. Then, seeming satisfied, he disappeared among the temple pillars – where no doubt there was a stool and he could sit, on guard in case some other would-be temple-goer arrived.

  I was not altogether disappointed with my visit though. I had gleaned more information than he’d meant to give. For one thing, I could have faith in Cantalarius’s account of his visit yesterday – it had occurred to me to question it. But the temple slave had borne him out in all respects: he had been to see the ancient sacerdos, who’d been alive and well and (more importantly) in good health afterwards – since he was not only talking with others in the courtyard later on but involved in normal rituals till the middle of the night.

  Yet by this morning he had disappeared – and not officially going out to the farm, as might have been supposed or (as my slave friend had pointed out) someone in the temple would have heard of it. Besides, if he’d set off to perform a sacrifice, ritual cleansing would be called for before he left the shrine and an attendant, with equipment, would have been arranged for him. So what had happened to the old man in those intervening hours?

  I was now certain that the story about the pond was true – my conversation with the slave had convinced me of that – and the priest was missing, so the body might be his. But how had he left the temple unobserved? That seemed impossible. There were slaves on watch all night, guarding the sacred fires, and he could not have reached the entrance without their seeing him. And there was no other way into the site, which – apart from the main entrance which I had just approached – was surrounded on all sides by a high stone wall, deliberately tall to hide the mysteries within. Perhaps a younger man might just be strong enough to scale it and escape, or scuttle up a sacred tree and wriggle out along a branch, but for an aged priest it was inconceivable – especially in the dark when it was freezing hard and everything was slippery with ice. (In fact, the feat was known to be extremely difficult, even for an athlete in the light of day: the last man to try it, for a dare, had broken both his legs, and been thrown into the city prison for his pains!)

  So, given that no supernatural power had been at work, how had the priest got out of there at all? Had he, for some reason, adopted a disguise? Or had he been smuggled out against his will? I shook my head. Neither explanation seemed remotely probable, given that the temple was a busy place, with slaves and attendants in every corridor.

  I don’t know how much longer I’d have gone on standing there, chasing the same thoughts without effect, but I was interrupted by a hearty voice and a hand upon my shoulder.

  ‘Libertus, my good fellow! I am glad to find you here. It appears that we are looking for each other! We have just this instant come here from your shop. Your slave informed me you were on your way to me – but he also mentioned that you had business to attend to in the forum first, so I came back
this way in the hope of seeing you! And here, indeed, you are.’

  I turned to find a beaming Lucius, looking especially tawny in a russet cloak and accompanied by the same slave that I’d seen before. I greeted them with pleasure – it was getting late by now, and I had been worried that I would not find the trader at his desk. I told him so.

  ‘You would not have found me, I’m afraid. I have not been back in Glevum very long, and I merely called into the warehouse then, to check on everything and see if there was any news. I spent the night with Marcus at his country house,’ he went on, with a hint of pride at the implied distinction this bestowed.

  I gave the bow that he expected. ‘I heard that you were taking Silvia out there?’

  He nodded. ‘We set off late yesterday when her effects arrived, but the main road was so difficult that it took simply hours, and Marcus insisted that I should dine with them and offered me a bed – and somehow that lengthened into my remaining half today.’ He stroked his beard in a thoughtful way. ‘His Excellence was kind enough to ask me about this loan I hoped to get – I suppose he is concerned on Silvia’s behalf – and no doubt I talked too much about the business and the hopes I have for it. He is a courteous listener – though it seemed to interest him.’

  ‘Perhaps it genuinely did,’ I muttered bitterly. How like Marcus to set a task for me and then – without warning – embark on it himself! ‘So you didn’t leave his villa until this afternoon.’

  ‘Exactly. And even then the military road was difficult – there are carts and wagons queuing up for miles. I suppose they haven’t been able to get here recently – and it has taken me till almost now to reach the town. I merely called into the warehouse, as I said, and then went straight to you.’

  I made that bow again. ‘I am honoured, naturally – but, forgive me, Lucius – what made you do that?’