“That’s where they lower their ladder,” I said, pointing to the end of the path opposite the tunnel. I looked around some more and spotted a rock lying in the path. It was about the size of my fist, black with streaks of green. “Unless I’m much mistaken, this is the stone I tossed in a few days ago.”
“Then it’s her mundus all right,” Hermes said. “So it was a real mundus, of sorts, not a well. It leads to the underworld, though it takes a detour. So, do you think Porcia is involved?”
“I’ll need more evidence before I can level an accusation,” I said. “It’s on her property, but she claims she never comes here and it would be hard to prove otherwise. She has a crowd of slaves and tenant farmers, and any of them might come here. The property isn’t fenced, and with all the wildland she keeps, they could get here without being seen. We know that someone left offerings at that shrine to the genius loci. No. I can’t bring charges against a very rich woman of this district on this alone. We’ll need more.”
“Praetor,” said one of the men, “what are these?” He had been on one knee sifting through the leaf mold and now he showed me what he had found: a handful of miniature arrows. We looked around and found many more, and plainly some of them had been down there for centuries. We found many more points than complete arrows, their shafts and fletching having rotted away over the centuries. Some of these were bronze and we found a few tiny points made of finely flaked flint or obsidian. Once again, I felt the tremendous age of the place.
“Some of these are from before iron came to Italy,” I said.
“When would that be?” Hermes asked.
“A thousand years ago, at least. Bronze was used for everything before that, which is why Homer’s heroes fight with weapons of bronze. But this mundus, like the tunnel, couldn’t have been carved without bronze tools. These stone points must date from a time when bronze was still too valuable to use for arrowheads, which are often lost. People still made arrowheads out of stone.” I took a certain pride in that bit of deduction.
“Maybe Porcia was right,” Hermes said. “You remember she said that the arrows might have been left by some hunter asking for luck in the hunt. Maybe in the old days that was what offers of arrows meant.”
“Either that or there has been a huge amount of vengeance-seeking in these parts,” I said. Just then, one more little piece clicked into place. It still wasn’t enough, though.
“I wish we had a ladder,” Hermes said. “Then we could climb out and go back by way of the road. It would spare us another tunnel trip and the people we left back at the temple wouldn’t know what to think.”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “we didn’t think to bring a ladder. So let’s go back. We should be there well before nightfall.”
So back we went. We extinguished the burning lamps as we passed them. We passed the litter where someone had lain speaking lying prophecies to doomed men. We came to the hole carved in the floor and lowered ourselves through it. We found ourselves out in the open air again just as evening was coming on. Perna and the workmen were sitting on the ground patiently.
“I’m afraid you men can’t go home tonight,” I told them. “I can’t have anyone talking about what has been going on here today. There are good quarters here in the temple complex. Make yourselves comfortable. I will pay you handsomely for your time.”
“It’s all the same to me and these men, Praetor,” Perna said. “As long as we get paid.”
“It will be late by the time we get back to the villa,” Hermes said.
“I’m not going back,” I told him. “You are going back. Tell Julia to join me here tomorrow, and bring my curule chair. Tomorrow, I also want you to bring several people: the woman Floria, for one. You remember how I told you to find her home?”
“I’ll find her,” he said.
“Find her and bring her here, under heavy guard. I don’t want her killed like poor Hypatia. Take as many men as you think you’ll need, and send me the historian, Cordus.”
“Done. Anyone else?”
“Not just yet. I will have you round up quite a few people when I settle things here.”
He grinned. “We’re getting down to serious business now, aren’t we?”
I nodded. “Now it gets very serious indeed.”
11
JULIA ARRIVED LATE THE NEXT MORNing. With her was Antonia, who had been off visiting some friends in Capua. Circe, it seemed, had returned to Rome. I had scarcely noticed their absence, so preoccupied had I been. With them were most of the entourage who had accompanied me south. Apparently Julia had decided that I was a praetor again, so she would see that I was properly attended.
“What has caused this sudden new enthusiasm?” she wanted to know.
“Come and let’s take a walk beneath these trees,” I said. “This is not for everybody’s ears just yet.” Antonia glared at being left out, but of all the women in the world I wanted to confide in, the very last would have been Antonia. She could no more keep a secret or resist gossiping than she could have sprouted wings and flown to the moon.
As we walked in the grove, I told Julia of what I had found, and of my suspicions, and how I intended to wrap things up so we could pack up for Sicily.
“Infamous!” she said. “Defrauding people with a false oracle, then robbing and murdering them!” She paused. “But they wouldn’t be able to do it very often, would they? How often would merchants going abroad carrying a lot of money have stopped by here?”
“More often than you’d think,” I said. “People about to travel abroad often visit oracles and seek the help of the gods. We don’t know how many confederates they had overseas, or whether they had men follow the victims and then choose a safe place out of Italy to kill them and dispose of their bodies. I also suspect that this was only one aspect of their depredations.”
“What else do you think they’ve been up to?”
“Campania, with all its attractions, its Sibyl of Cumae and so forth, is always full of transients. The overseas killing must have been unwieldy and difficult to set up. I suspect that it was done only when local people were to be robbed. If they were killed here, they would be missed immediately and suspicion would naturally fall on people living in the district. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed that the last place they were seen was here at Hecate’s Oracle. No, murder of locals could only be risked when they were away from Campania, preferably out of Italy altogether.
“But a great many people from other parts of Italy and from foreign lands come here to consult with the Oracle. They are far from home, they wouldn’t be missed for a long time; without friends or relatives here, who would notice that the last place they were seen alive was here?”
She thought about this for a while. “But how would the killers know that these people had no local connections who might show up asking embarrassing questions?”
“They had slaves walking among the people as they waited to consult with the Oracle. People would let crucial information slip without noticing it. I’m not saying they did it every day. For one thing, the conditions would have to be perfect. It would be impossible if many people were present, but we know that sometimes there might only be one or two people here on a given day. When conditions were perfect, they might be given a false prophecy like Floria’s master, or they might just be killed down there in the chamber of the Oracle. Knocked on the head or strangled, I would imagine. Blood is hard to scrub from coarse stone.”
“But how would they dispose of the bodies?” Julia wondered. “That was the great convenience of killing a victim overseas. Or at sea. No corpse to explain away.”
“Easily,” I said. “A few days ago I almost got disposed of down there by accident.”
“The river? What a hideous way to die, your body swept down beneath the earth without the proper rites.” She shuddered at the horror of it.
“They were sent down—clothes, possessions, the lot. In an instant, there was nothing to connect their disappearance with the priests and pries
tesses of Hecate. Only sometimes they were not thorough enough. In our search we found a stylus, a sandal, a bone hairpin, and a necklace of Egyptian beads. They were lost when the bodies of victims were thrust under the water to be swept away by the current.”
“How long has this been going on?” Julia asked. “The Oracle has been here for centuries.”
“Not for that long, I think. I suspect that the operation has been running only in recent years. There was scarcely any soot on the ceiling of the ventilation tunnel.”
“Very observant. But why, and how, were the priests of Apollo murdered?”
“That is the most difficult question, and I think that if we can put together just a few more facts, we’ll have the answer to that, too, and we’ll bag the lot of them. But I can’t let anyone outside know how close we are to doing it. That would mean fleeings and undoubtedly more murder attempts. I personally don’t want to be the recipient of a successful murder attempt. The bungled one was bad enough.”
“How many people do you think are involved?”
“The entire staff of the Oracle, for certain. There must be at least a few outside partners, and maybe many. Although it would make sense to keep the outsiders to a minimum. Everybody knows that the more people involved in a crime, the greater the likelihood of being found out.”
We went back out to the temple area and everyone had questions which I refused to answer. About noon, the historian Cordus arrived. “Has the praetor a task for me?” he asked, smiling. These were probably the happiest days of his life, employing his lonely work at the behest of the powerful. He’d be dining out on this story for years to come.
“Indeed I have, Cordus my friend.” I took him by the arm and led him to a little table where, as before, I had laid out a generous repast. “Here, sit, refresh yourself. It’s very good of you to come at such short notice.” It never hurts to flatter the humble. They get it so seldom. “It’s very important work indeed. But please, have something first.”
For the sake of good manners he ate a little and drank some wine, but curiosity got the better of his appetite. “Please, Praetor, what can I do for you?”
“First,” I said, “there is the matter of the slave girl, Hypatia.”
“Is she the one that was murdered?”
“Precisely. She said that she was sold to the temple by an itinerant slave trader named Aulus Plantius. I am informed that he is a dealer in high-quality slaves and that he appears here once or twice a year. This would have been about three months ago. Can you find me a record of that sale?”
“I am sure that I can, providing all the legal forms were followed in the sale.”
I sighed. “Legality is about the last thing I expect to encounter in this Gordian knot of a case, but see what you can turn up.”
“I am at your service. Surely this is not all?”
“By no means. Would any records be kept around here concerning the priesthood of the Oracle? By this I mean names, the dates when each took office and left it, that sort of thing?”
“Naturally there should be records here at the sanctuary of Hecate. Have you looked for them?”
“I have. It seems there are no such records on the premises and the priesthood are not inclined to cooperate with me.”
“I see. If there are such records to be found, I will locate them.”
“Very good,” I commended. “If you can do these things for me, and do them as quickly as possible, I will be forever in your debt.”
“I shall do it at once, Praetor,” he said.
“No, stay here and finish your lunch. It will be two or three days before I am ready to make my presentation. Will that be sufficient time?”
“A day should be sufficient, Praetor. The matter of the slave’s sale should take little time. As for the priests, if such records are to be found at all, I should be able to turn them up quickly.”
“Excellent.” It was good to know that I could delegate a task to someone who knew his business and could be trusted to carry it out quickly and efficiently. I had often thought that it would be a good thing if the state could employ a permanent staff of such people to be at the disposal of the magistrates. Slaves could not be trusted to do the work. It would have to be done by free men, but who would pay them?
Shortly after the historian departed, Hermes rode in with the woman Floria, under heavy guard. She looked numbed with fright, not an uncommon thing in a powerless person who finds herself suddenly in the grip of the Roman legal system.
“I tried to tell her nothing is going to happen to her,” Hermes said, “but she wouldn’t believe me.”
“Come down, Floria,” I said. “You have nothing to fear. The guards are for your own protection. I just want you to repeat to a court what you told me.”
“I just have to talk?” she said in a weak voice.
“That is all. You’re free now, you can’t be tortured.”
“Of course she can’t be tortured!” Julia said, pushing me aside. “Come, my dear, you’re safe here. You will stay in our own quarters. Let me help you dismount.” Julia and one of her girls helped the woman down, and already she looked vastly relieved. Julia had that way with people. She could put a man about to be crucified at ease.
“Naturally there should be records here at the sanctuary of Hecate. Have you looked for them?”
“I have. It seems there are no such records on the premises and the priesthood are not inclined to cooperate with me.”
“I see. If there are such records to be found, I will locate them.”
“Very good,” I commended. “If you can do these things for me, and do them as quickly as possible, I will be forever in your debt.”
“I shall do it at once, Praetor,” he said.
“No, stay here and finish your lunch. It will be two or three days before I am ready to make my presentation. Will that be sufficient time?”
“A day should be sufficient, Praetor. The matter of the slave’s sale should take little time. As for the priests, if such records are to be found at all, I should be able to turn them up quickly.”
“Excellent.” It was good to know that I could delegate a task to someone who knew his business and could be trusted to carry it out quickly and efficiently. I had often thought that it would be a good thing if the state could employ a permanent staff of such people to be at the disposal of the magistrates. Slaves could not be trusted to do the work. It would have to be done by free men, but who would pay them?
Shortly after the historian departed, Hermes rode in with the woman Floria, under heavy guard. She looked numbed with fright, not an uncommon thing in a powerless person who finds herself suddenly in the grip of the Roman legal system.
“I tried to tell her nothing is going to happen to her,” Hermes said, “but she wouldn’t believe me.”
“Come down, Floria,” I said. “You have nothing to fear. The guards are for your own protection. I just want you to repeat to a court what you told me.”
“I just have to talk?” she said in a weak voice.
“That is all. You’re free now, you can’t be tortured.”
“Of course she can’t be tortured!” Julia said, pushing me aside. “Come, my dear, you’re safe here. You will stay in our own quarters. Let me help you dismount.” Julia and one of her girls helped the woman down, and already she looked vastly relieved. Julia had that way with people. She could put a man about to be crucified at ease.
So that was two tasks accomplished. I dictated a few letters to some people: to Belasus in Pompeii, asking him to come to my court and bring the letters and evidence we had found in the house of Elagabal the fence; and to Pompey, asking him to attend. I even gritted my teeth and sent one to Cato. Much as I disliked him, he had that horrible honesty. I was going to have to do things that might exceed my authority as praetor peregrinus, and I wanted someone I could trust to testify that I had done these things for good reasons, not because I was corrupt or tyrannical. My enemies in Rome would lying in wait
for me as soon as I should step down from office and would charge me for what I did here. Cato was not afraid of them or of anybody else, and he would not lie about what he had witnessed.
When I had dispatched my messengers to their various destinations, I sat back, at loose ends for a little while. Things had been so hectic lately that this felt good. Then I got up and wandered out into the temple enclosure and thought, What were you up to, Eugaeon? Why were you murdered, along with your fellow priests? Were you just the last victims of this gang of murderers, or were you one of them?
These gloomy but important thoughts occupied me for a while, while I enjoyed my solitude. Not that I was perfectly alone. Several of my men hung off at a discreet distance, armed and bearing shields. Then there came a voice from behind me.
“Praetor, why aren’t you with your suite? You shouldn’t be wandering about alone out here in the dark.” I turned to see that it was Sabinilla.
“Why, what brings you here? I thought you’d be plotting your next party, the one that’s going to top even the one you gave for us.”
“Oh, never fear, I’m putting together another. Word reached me that something has been happening here today and I yield to no one in my mastery of local gossip. I had to come see what was happening. I rejoice to see you are fully recovered from your wound. You are fully recovered, aren’t you?”
“I am touched by your concern. Yes, I am as good as new, strength restored; the wound no longer even pains me.” This was not quite true but it was beneath my dignity as a praetor to admit to pain from minor causes.
We walked back toward the terraces of the temple, where torches were ablaze. I saw that her wig was blue this time. Odd-colored wigs were just coming into fashion, and I didn’t doubt she had one for every day of the year.
She stopped and turned to me. “Praetor, I—”
In that instant I heard a sound I had become all too familiar with. It was the whiz of an arrow, like the sound of a fast-moving insect. It went right past my ear and suddenly Sabinilla was standing there with an astonished expression, trying to say something, but nothing came from her mouth but a great gush of blood.
SPQR XII: Oracle of the Dead Page 19