I wasted not an instant gaping. I hit the ground rolling, and the second arrow whizzed through the air where I had been standing and buried itself in Sabinilla, halfway between navel and sternum. It would have gone into my spine if I hadn’t dived when I did. She was still upright, now trying to pull out the arrow that had gone through her throat. An arrow will not drop a person instantly to the ground the way a javelin or spear will. They don’t have enough force. They pierce organs and cut blood vessels. I kept moving, and Sabinilla finally fell, as if she had just learned that she was dead.
I was shouting without being aware of it. My men were running toward me and I was still rolling, changing speed and direction constantly to keep from being an easy target. I had lost all interest in dignity. I was not going to catch another arrow if I could help it. In moments my men were all around me, shields up. I heard a final arrow glance from a shield, then quiet.
“Bring torches over here!” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I got to my feet. “Bring lots of them! I want you to fan out and find that archer. Bring him to me, alive if possible, but don’t let him get away under any circumstances!” I am afraid that I lost my temper. Ordinarily I let little disturb me, but this was just too much. I railed at my men even as they went to search for the assassin.
“What is wrong with you?” I shouted at them. “Is it so difficult to keep a murderer armed with a bow away from here? Do all of my guests have to be killed before you bestir yourselves enough to notice that there is a man with a bow somewhere on the premises?”
Julia came running. “Come away from here now!” she ordered. “You’re lit up like a statue at Saturnalia and the bowman is out there in the dark somewhere. Come inside immediately. Hermes has already taken charge of the search.”
“But Sabinilla—” I began, gesturing toward the recumbent, bloody figure on the grass.
“She’s dead. She’ll be just as dead an hour from now. I’ll have her body brought in, but first you have to be less of a target. Come along.”
The rage went out of me. She was right, of course. We walked back to the temple with four men surrounding me with shields. Once inside, I sent them out to join the hunt. Then I poured myself a large cup of unwatered wine. This night, I felt I didn’t need to observe my new regimen. Julia had wooden screens erected before all the windows.
“The assassin missed me with his first shot and hit Sabinilla instead,” I told Julia. “I was moving by the time he drew his second arrow. It struck her too. The poor woman. She picked the wrong time to come visiting.”
“Unless she was the target. The bowman may have tried to kill both of you with two arrows.”
“Eh? Why?” The shock of the events had made me slow.
“She came here without sending word ahead and arrived unfashionably late. That woman was nothing if not fashionable. When she got here, she never came to the quarters to find me. She went straight out to where you were foolishly walking about in the dark. Perhaps she wanted to tell you something and the killer wanted to silence her.”
“Yes, that could be how it was,” I admitted. “I’ve said before that everyone is a suspect in this business. She may have been involved somehow. When she is brought in, I want her clothing searched. She may have brought something in writing. Who came with her? She wouldn’t have come alone and she wouldn’t have walked.”
“I’ll send to find out,” Julia said. She went out and began to give orders. When Julia gave orders, they were obeyed quickly. A short while later she came back.
“She came in a litter carried by some of those Gauls of hers. She was accompanied by a bodyguard of her Gallic gladiators as well. The only other member of the party was this man.” She snapped her fingers and a gray-haired man came in, carrying a small chest.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“I am Eteocles, my lady’s steward,” he said. I vaguely remembered him from the party. “Praetor, is it true that my lady is dead?”
“I am afraid so. She was murdered in an assassination attempt on me.” I saw no reason to burden him with my suspicions just yet. He gasped and turned pale. I allowed him to collect himself.
“Eteocles, your lady was traveling light when she came here. Did she usually travel with so few servants?”
“Why, no, sir. Ordinarily she traveled in considerable state, as befitted her wealth and position. Today she was in a great hurry and called for her swiftest team of bearers and a few guards and me.”
“Why you?” Julia asked.
“Well, she told me to get this together”—here he raised the box in his hands—“and come with her and not allow it out of my possession. It was all very puzzling and she said nothing all the way here.”
“What is it?” I asked.
In answer, he placed it on a table. It seemed so heavy he could barely hold it. Then he threw back the lid. The chest was perhaps a foot on a side and a foot deep. It was packed with gold coins, a considerable fortune.
“Leave us,” Julia said peremptorily. The man bowed and backed out of the room. When he was well away, Julia turned to me and said, “What is this?”
I picked up a coin and looked at it. It was a beautifully struck Alexandrian piece with the profile of Ptolemy Auletes on its front. I tossed it back into the box. “This, my dear, is a bribe. The woman came here to strike a deal with me. She learned that something was happening here and figured out that everything was about to come to light. She decided to get to me before anyone else could and bribe me to keep her out of it somehow.”
“She must have had a low opinion of Roman praetors.”
“For that much money, most praetors would have accepted gladly. I, however, am incorruptible. She merely got killed for her pains.”
One of the servants stuck her head in the door and informed us that Sabinilla’s body had been brought in. “Let’s have a look at her,” I said resignedly.
She had been lain on a table and nothing had yet been done to clean her up. The first arrow had gone through her windpipe and a jugular. In dying, she had lost almost all her blood. It covered the front of her gown as if it had been recently dyed red. The second arrow was no more than a gesture. She was dead within seconds of the first strike. Julia ordered two of her female slaves to search the woman’s clothing. Reluctantly, they complied. They found nothing. Julia told them to go wash the blood off their hands and they ran out, gagging.
“I don’t think we’ll learn anything from her now,” Julia said.
“Remove her wig,” I ordered one of the slaves.
“Why?” Julia asked. “Do you think she hid something under it.”
“No, I just want to know the true color of her hair.” Julia snorted. The man lifted the wig which, thankfully, was unbloodied. Her hair was red, a striking shade. I wondered why she did not display it. Then again, red hair is often associated with bad luck, so perhaps she thought it best to hide it.
“She can go back home in the morning in her litter,” I said.
Shortly after that, Hermes came in to tell us that the assassin had not been found.
“Somehow I am not surprised,” I said. “This killer gets about like a phantom. Just flits from place to place to shoot arrows at me.”
“I’ll get the huntsmen and their dogs in the morning,” Hermes said. “Maybe they can get a scent off the arrows.”
“You can try,” I said, “but I don’t hold out great hopes. Whatever else he may be, this assassin knows what he is doing. I don’t doubt he has taken precautions to confuse dogs.”
So it transpired. The next day, the huntsmen arrived with their dogs. The animals sniffed the nock-ends of the arrows, where the shooter’s scent should have been strongest, then they ran all over the temple compound, yipping happily.
“So much for that, then,” I said.
“From now on, until this is settled,” Julia said, “you will be indoors well before dark.” I gave her no argument.
“Maybe we should just wait,” I said. “The thieves are fal
ling out now. They’re afraid their confederates will betray them, so they are killing each other off. Soon there may be nothing left for me to do. They’ll all be dead.”
“Don’t count on it,” Julia advised.
I went outside, took a look around, and groaned. “They’re back!”
Already, the mob was assembling: the vendors, the mountebanks, the vast number of gawkers. More murder. More fun.
“Why do they do this?” I inquired of no one in particular. “Don’t they have anything else to do? This is southern Campania! There ought to be plenty of other diversions to occupy the idle.” I received no answer from the gods or anyone else. There was no explanation. There is just a basic flaw in human nature that causes people to flock like vultures to a place where ghastly events have occurred. Doubtless they hope something equally ghastly will happen that they can actually witness. This was probably something that escaped when Pandora opened her box.
I sent Sabinilla’s body home in her litter. I’d had undertakers come in so she was properly cleaned up and Julia had donated a gown so she wouldn’t arrive looking as if the Furies had been at her. Whatever she had done, she was beyond the hand of justice now, and I felt the decencies should be observed. Needless to say, the gawkers lined the road to see the litter pass. I wondered what it was they expected to see. Just another of those inexplicable things, I supposed.
While I awaited the people I had summoned, who would not be likely to arrive before at least the next day, and the reports of those who were digging up evidence, I retired to a terrace that was away from the crowd and allowed me a broad vista. I was in no mood for appreciating the scenery, but it kept any archers from creeping within range. Just to make sure, I had stationed a lookout atop the Temple of Apollo. Young Vespillo was my choice, because he had exceptionally good eyesight.
I did not idle away my time, but began to write down my arguments and list my evidence, not all of which was gathered, but which I expected soon to have in my hands. I wrote out the events as they happened, in sequence. (I have that account by me now and it has been a great aid to my memory. It pays to keep all your old papers.) I organized my oration as I had learned from Cicero, in the fashion of the day, not neglecting the occasional character assassination, snatches of relevant poetry, and so forth. I knew I wouldn’t be using all of it, but it helped to keep things orderly in my mind.
Around noon the next day Cordus arrived, and with him was a man of about thirty-five years, wearing a dingy, dark toga, his face unshaven. Accompanied by my guards, I went to greet them. “I believe I have found what you want, Praetor,” Cordus said. “This is the distinguished Lucius Pedarius.” Apparently “distinguished” was how the locals referred to genuine patricians. From his dress and grooming, it looked as if the family had fallen on truly hard times.
“Pedarius?” I said. “I wondered when some representative of your clan would see fit to show up.”
“I do beg your pardon, Praetor. My household has been in mourning for my father.” His Latin was impeccable. That explained the dingy toga, beard, and tangled hair. The Pedarius family still took the old-fashioned mourning practices seriously. In Rome, we usually just borrowed an old toga from a freedman, allowed a little stubble to show, and left our hair unbarbered but combed.
“I see. Well, why don’t the two of you come join me for lunch.”
I sent word to Julia that we had a patrician guest. She wouldn’t want to miss this. She arrived with a small crowd of her servant girls, greeted Pedarius and Cordus, and set about arranging an informal lunch, which on this occasion included placing the guards where they would be unobtrusive but effective. Pedarius regarded these precautions with some apprehension, for which I could not blame him. Lunch with the praetor doesn’t usually mean a visit to the war zone.
“Then it’s true that your life is in danger, Praetor?” he said.
“Everybody is in danger around here,” I told him. “I’m rather surprised to see that you are alive. Here, have some of this cured ham. It’s excellent.”
“Are you serious? Not about the ham, about my being alive. Am I in personal danger?”
“Serious as the gods’ displeasure,” I told him. “Can you tell me the circumstances of your father’s death?”
Julia was annoyed. “Must you broach such a subject when we have just begun eating? Surely after lunch is the time for serious talk.”
“Time is what we are running short of,” I told her. “My apologies for my rudeness, but these are quite literally matters of life and death. Was there anything suspicious in the circumstances of your father’s death, Lucius Pedarius?”
“Well, my father was in his fifty-sixth year, not young by any means, but quite vigorous and healthy. He rode and hunted most days when he was not preoccupied with overseeing our land. About three months ago, he began to complain of pains in his chest and abdomen. Very soon he could no longer ride and took to his bed. The physicians couldn’t determine a cause for his decline and prescribed the usual purges, poultices, herbal infusions, and so forth. None of it did any good. His decline continued, slow but steady. This is why he could not call upon you as he wished to, and with his situation so precarious, I could not come in his place. Again, I extend my apologies.”
“No need to,” I assured him. “When did your father die?”
“Fifteen days ago. He had been getting weaker and thinner for some time, and could only take a little wine or broth. In time he lost consciousness and never regained it. Within one day of lapsing into unconsciousness, he was dead.”
“I see. Tell me, did any new slaves join your household just prior to your father’s illness?”
“Slaves?” He frowned, thinking. “Well, yes. My father came home with a slave woman just a few days before he fell ill. Why?”
“It’s part of a pattern I’ve worked out,” I told him. He looked at me the way people usually do when I say things like that. “Did he say where he bought her?”
“He said that he had acquired her from a neighbor.”
“And this neighbor’s name?” I asked.
“He never told me. He was not a very communicative man. I know there was a neighbor he visited from time to time, but he never took me with him, and he never mentioned names.”
“Did that not seem odd to you?”
He shrugged. “Men often go visiting people they’d rather not talk about. I was too discreet to press the matter.”
“And this slave. Was she young and pretty?”
“No, my father never bought slaves for decorative purposes. This was a stout, older woman. She was put to work in the kitchen.”
“In the kitchen,” I mused. “That is a strategic location. Is she there now?”
“Ah, no, Praetor,” he said, his face flushing with embarrassment. “She disappeared a few days ago. I thought she was just another runaway. I hired slave hunters, but they have not turned her up. It never occurred to me to be suspicious. My father was poisoned, wasn’t he? And the woman did it.”
“I fear that is so. But don’t feel that you are alone in being deceived. The person behind this is an expert in these matters.” I looked to Cordus. “How is it that you came here with Lucius Pedarius?”
“After I found the slave sale document you wanted, I searched for records of the priesthood of the Hecate cult. I could find nothing in the public records, but it occurred to me that, as hereditary patrons of the Temple of Apollo, the Pediarii might have something. So, I went to call upon them and found a house in mourning, but Lucius Pedarius very kindly let me come in and look at his father’s papers.”
“I had just been going through them,” Lucius said. “My father never took me into his confidence concerning business matters and rarely said anything about the temple, other than to complain about the expense of its restoration.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “The temple has undergone some extensive renovations recently. Your family paid for that?”
“It was our hereditary duty as patrons,”
he said. “Of course our own patron, the great general Pompey,” I noted that he said this without irony, “covered part of the expenses. I believe he would gladly have covered it all. Such sums mean nothing to him. But my father was too stiff-necked and proud a patrician to let someone else help out more than was proper.”
“That was quite admirable,” said Julia, predictably.
“Yes, well, it didn’t make him happy about the necessity.”
“I don’t mean to pry into the finances of your family,” I said, “but do you know how your father managed to pay for the restorations?”
He smiled sourly. “You mean since we Pedarii are notoriously penurious despite our patrician status? To be honest, I do not know. I thought that he had sold off some old family treasures that he had hidden somewhere. I began to think differently when I went through his papers after his death.”
“When were the restorations undertaken?” I asked him.
“About nine years ago. It seems odd, now,” he said.
“Odd how?”
“Because that was when he stopped visiting the temple altogether. You would think he would have taken pride in the task he had paid for. When men do that, they seldom omit to show themselves and accept the honors of the community.”
“That is very true,” I said. I had paid for such things myself, and I certainly would never have gone to the expense if it hadn’t spread my fame and made people remember my name at election time. This is the traditional motivation that causes prominent men to undertake public works. So why did old Pedarius pay up and then avoid the place?
“I am going to want a look at those papers,” I said.
“I’ve brought them, and, as my friend Cordus suspected, among the family records is a tolerably complete listing of the priests of the Oracle of Hecate. Although our association is with the Temple of Apollo, the temple and the Oracle for all practical purposes form a single complex. It seems that in centuries past they were not on a basis of mutual hostility and shared in the patronage.”
SPQR XII: Oracle of the Dead Page 20