The Legatus Mystery

by Rosemary Rowe

  I was about to protest my innocence again, when something suddenly occurred to me: a danger I hadn’t thought of before. Gwellia had come from Londinium with me, and it was the first time she’d visited the town. If the townspeople once learned of that, she would become a target too. If she wasn’t already. The thought made me turn quite cold. If so, there was little I could do to help. She was officially a mere female slave, with none of the protections of a citizen. Better that I should take my flogging like a man.

  I couldn’t bring myself to speak the words, but I bowed my head submissively.

  My co-operation seemed to reassure Marcus. ‘That should dispose of popular unrest.’ He took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘And win us a period of quiet, though it may not solve the problems at the shrine. Libertus is quite right; he has not been here all the time. But there are people who have. Any of the priests, for instance, pontifex. If we are looking for “channels of the gods”, there might be other candidates . . .’

  I glanced at him gratefully. Marcus was doing his best for me.

  The pontifex was not so accommodating. He did not dare to contradict my patron outright, but his thin voice was querulous. ‘Excellence, you have heard the augurers. Someone’s presence here has outraged the gods. The priests are in the temple every day. So why should these things suddenly occur?’

  There were a dozen possible replies to that, but I understood the message. It was no use trying to justify myself. It was expedient for a ‘culprit’ to be identified.

  The old man looked at me slyly. ‘In any case, who else—’ He got no further. Hirsus had rushed into the room, white-faced and shaking, his diadem askew. He brushed past me without a glance and threw himself before the rich men’s feet. His red hair looked startling in that sombre room.

  ‘Mightiness! Excellence!’ He scarcely seemed to know to whom he should address his agitated bows. ‘Excuse this unforgivable intrusion! Something most terrible has hap—’ He saw me suddenly and his voice, already high with anxiety, rose to a tormented squeak, and then failed altogether.

  ‘Something has happened? At the temple?’ Marcus enquired drily. ‘We heard it. That moaning sound again. We sent a slave over to investigate. Have you come from him?’

  Hirsus shook his head. ‘It’s . . . it’s . . .’ He trailed off helplessly. He was staring at me and trembling so much he seemed incapable of speech.

  Marcus was clearly losing patience. ‘By all the deities, what is it, man?’

  Hirsus opened his mouth again, but still no words emerged. Instead he raised his hand in my direction as if to ward off blows and I realised that he was wearing an amulet under the folds of his elaborate robe. I had only glimpsed it, against the reddish hairs of his arm, but I could guess what it would be. I had seen similar things in the market many times. Pieces of auspicious herbs, no doubt, bound with a woven cord, and a silver image of some symbol of good luck – a phallus for example – dangling from the whole. Hirsus might be an Imperial priestling, but he was clearly not above using a magic talisman to protect himself from my evil influence.

  In the presence of the high priest too, where knots and bindings of any kind were generally forbidden! It suddenly brought home to me with force how feared and hated I had suddenly become.

  Still Hirsus did not speak. Indeed, it seemed as if we might have remained in ignorance for ever of what he had to say, had not Junio chosen that moment to return. We turned as one man to look at him.

  He was looking almost as shaken as Hirsus, but his face was resolute. He shouldered his way past the slaves (who had been watching all this in astonishment from the inner door) and came to stand beside the central pool. He looked surprised to see the sub-sevir here, but he wasted no time in delivering his message. He did not pause to kneel or even wait for permission to speak.

  ‘Mightiness, Excellence, master – forgive my bursting in.’ He bowed his head politely to my patron and the priests, but he did not look in my direction. All the same I knew his words were meant primarily for me. ‘There is a lot of trouble at the temple. When the slaves tried to go out, as you commanded, to summon the priests from other shrines, they found that crowds were massing at the gate – all demanding that Libertus should be brought to trial. Shouting and screaming for blood-sacrifice, and calling on the gods. The temple slaves can’t hold them back for long. Someone should go to call the city guard. There bids fair to be a riot otherwise, and if the mob break in – who knows what they might do.’

  He paused, and then at last he turned to me. ‘All the same, master, I think you’d better come. There seems to be another body at the shrine.’

  Chapter Twenty

  There was an audible gasp from everyone. Marcus and the high priest started to their feet. ‘Dear gods!’

  Hirsus gave a little moan of terror. ‘It’s true. That is what I came to tell you. Oh, merciful Apollo . . .!’

  Marcus rounded on him. ‘This is what you came to tell us?’

  Hirsus nodded.

  ‘Then,’ Marcus said dangerously, ‘perhaps you had better do that – since the high priest is not permitted to look upon a corpse. In fact, considering the danger from the mob, perhaps we none of us should go back into the temple precinct without the protection of the guard. Junio, go and summon them. Here!’ He slipped his seal-ring off and gave it to my slave. ‘Show this to the commandant. Tell him to send a dozen men – on my authority. Go!’

  Junio looked reluctant (he knew that if there was trouble I’d prefer to have him at my side) but there was no arguing with Marcus. He made off obediently in the direction of the street door, and a moment later I heard the ring of his running sandals on the paving stones.

  Marcus and the high priest resumed their seats, and my patron turned to Hirsus. ‘And you,’ he barked out, ‘tell us what you know. Quickly too! Before we call on someone to help you find your tongue.’

  If I had been the hapless little priest, already too petrified to speak, that extra threat would have been enough to deprive me of utterance for ever. However, he licked his lips and managed painfully, ‘In front of the altar . . . I went in . . . lying there with blood all over him . . . I . . .’

  He stopped, and glanced at me again.

  My patron was looking seriously displeased. ‘Go on,’ he said icily to the priest. ‘You saw the body lying there. What did you do?’

  Hirsus shrugged helplessly. ‘I . . . nothing . . . Meritus and Scribonius came. I was . . . they didn’t . . . they sent me to tell you.’

  The pontifex had been leaning forward intently, watching and listening to all this. A spot of colour had crept into his ashen cheeks. ‘Speak up, man!’ His rustling voice was hardly audible itself. ‘A body, do you say? Was this before or after this noise they tell me about?’

  Hirsus turned to him gratefully. ‘Oh, after, after, Sacredness! That was why I went into the shrine at all. Meritus sent me in to light the censers. Scribonius said it should be done from the sacred fire – there’s been one burning on the inner altar ever since it was cleansed.’ He glanced at me. For a moment his indignation got the better of his fear. ‘After this citizen had paid his visit there, and desecrated it again,’ he finished bitterly.

  Marcus glanced at me. ‘Have you anything to say to that, Libertus?’

  ‘I have a question, with your permission, Excellence,’ I said.

  Marcus nodded though the old priest looked displeased.

  I turned to Hirsus. ‘The body. Did you recognise the man?’

  He made a helpless little gesture with his hands. ‘I could not see the face.’

  ‘So it could be the same body as before?’ Marcus had seen what I was thinking. ‘How is the dead man dressed? As a legate?’

  ‘Or a messenger?’ I said, and saw the high priest pale. There had been another messenger today. If it was his body lying at the shrine, then all our fears about reprisals in the city could be multiplied a hundredfold.

  Marcus looked sharply at the sub-sevir. ‘Well, tell us, man. Is
there a seal? A ring?’

  Hirsus shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Excellence. I couldn’t see. There seemed to be a cape . . . a hood . . . pulled over him. He is just lying there. Face down. And all this blood . . .’ He broke off, shuddering.

  ‘You’re sure it is a man?’ I put in. It was perverse. A few moments ago, when I had expected to be sent back to that accursed shrine, I had been afraid to go: but now that Marcus had decided otherwise, I was suddenly anxious to see this for myself.

  This time Hirsus answered readily enough. ‘A man? I thought it was. How could it be otherwise? There, in the inner temple? Women don’t come in. I thought at first it was a penitent, one of the supplicants who sometimes come. In fact, I almost thought . . .’ He met my eyes a moment and then quickly looked away as if I might bewitch him by my glance. ‘I’m almost sure it was a man.’

  ‘And he was bleeding? Did you see a knife?’

  He paled again. ‘No knife. Just blood. From head to toe. He looked like . . . like . . .’ he shook his head, like a man trying to wake himself from a dreadful dream, ‘some sort of sacrifice.’

  ‘Did you touch the body?’

  From Hirsus’s look of horror, I might as well have suggested that perhaps he could have kissed a venomous snake. ‘I did not, citizen. And if you had seen it lying there, in all that blood – after what’s been going on in the temple these few days – neither would you have done.’ He paused. ‘Anyway,’ he muttered sulkily, ‘if any other strange manifestations occurred we were to fetch the senior priests, and not to go near anything ourselves.’

  ‘What’s that?’ The high priest’s voice was sharp.

  Hirsus repeated what he had said – a little more loudly this time. ‘On your strict instructions, Pontifex. Meritus told us yesterday.’

  Marcus looked enquiringly at the high priest. ‘And is this so?’

  The old man had been looking vague, but he brightened visibly. ‘Indeed, indeed, I did give the command. Dear me. A necessary precaution, we thought, Excellence. A matter for experienced celebrants. Of course, we could not guess then that a body would be found, but we thought it probable that something would occur. And I’m sure the principle was sound enough. If the gods are already angry, we decided, we should not add to it by interfering in their acts with unhallowed hands.’ He nodded his white-capped head at me.

  My hands, he obviously meant, but Marcus chose to ignore the implication. He turned back to Hirsus. ‘So you found the body and went for help? Tell me, how did you come to discover it, exactly?’

  ‘Your pardon, Excellence, I thought you understood. We were in the robing room, preparing – there is to be a procession, as you know – when Meritus came in saying that, after that dreadful moaning sound, he wanted both the censers lit and carried with the images. Scribonius agreed. He said they should be lighted from the sacred fire, and I was supposed to be the duty priest today. So I was sent. It is beginning to get dark as you will have noticed, gentlemen, so I lit a taper from the brazier, and went over to the shrine.’ He had forgotten his nervousness by now – or rather it had made him garrulous, because he went on without a pause for breath. ‘It was very dark inside the shrine, only the light of the embers on the altar, and I didn’t notice that there was something pale glimmering at its foot. I almost fell over it. But as soon as I lifted my taper over it, I could see exactly what it was.’

  He gulped again, but no one said a word. We were all imagining, too clearly, what had met his eyes.

  ‘Right in front of the altar, Excellences, where all the signs and omens occurred before. Stretched out full-length like a kind of sacrifice. And that bloodstain seeping over it. It was hard to believe it was a human form – just a package of something soft and warm and wet—’

  ‘You did touch it!’ I could not help myself. I interrupted him.

  Hirsus shook his head.

  ‘You must have done,’ my patron said, with a triumphant look at me. ‘Otherwise how could you know that it was warm?’

  Hirsus shook his head again. He looked genuinely bewildered. ‘Believe me, gentlemen, by all the gods! I would not have dared. And nor did Meritus or Scribonius when they came. We simply closed the shrine and sent for you. But . . . I don’t know. I suppose I know what blood is like – I’ve seen it shed at sacrifice often enough – and this was new blood, freshly spilt. Great Mercury!’ He swallowed hard. His pale face had taken on a greyish hue and his voice choked as though the memory had made him nauseous. ‘It glistened in the taper-light . . . bright red . . . and had a warm smell, if you understand . . .’

  Strangely enough, I thought I did, though Marcus was looking dubious.

  ‘Excellence,’ I said urgently, ‘I think he’s telling us the truth. And if he’s right, that is significant. If that blood is warm and wet there is a chance the man is not yet dead.’

  Marcus and the high priest stared at me.

  Hirsus gave a little sob. ‘No man could lose that quantity of blood and live. Citizen, he was completely drenched in it.’

  ‘All the same,’ I said. ‘I think that we should go to the temple now. Immediately. Without waiting for the guards. Suppose it is the legate’s messenger? Bad enough that he should be attacked. Do you wish to have it said you left him there to bleed to death, with no one coming to his aid?’

  If I had suggested that Jupiter himself was liable to descend at any moment, I could not have caused more of a sensation. Everyone leapt to their feet at once, and began their own manifestations of panic.

  Aurelia started crying out aloud, ‘We shall be ruined!’ and tearing at her hair.

  Her husband shuffled to the household shrine, pulled up his hood and began muttering incantations to himself – though, if he was hoping to avert evil influence, it seemed to me he’d left it rather late.

  Marcus said nothing, but he had that tight-lipped look I knew. It meant that he was planning something. Usually something uncomfortable, involving me.

  I was right. He tapped his baton on his thigh and gave me his most patronly smile. ‘I suppose that you are right as usual, my friend. If there is any chance of what you suggest, there’s no time to be lost. We shall simply have to brave the mob, and hope they haven’t broken through the gates. The high priest cannot go, of course, in case the man is dead and he finds himself looking on a corpse. Nor me, for the moment, I’m afraid. I must consult with him and plan what can be done. We can hardly go ahead with the procession if there is a body in the shrine. You go with Hirsus and assess the situation. I will have the slaves bring torches, and I won’t be far behind.’

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. When I had urged this I had envisaged a large party, with plenty of illumination and a dozen slaves. I’d never thought of going back there alone.

  Bad enough that the mob was after me, but to walk through the temple precinct in the dark! A temple where strange happenings had occurred for days. All those shadowy statues and stone gods. Bloodstained altars and a chilling shrine where, at best, a bloodstained horror awaited me! At worst – I didn’t dare to think of it. Compared to this, being a self-flagellant in a procession seemed almost desirable.

  Hirsus seemed no more keen than I was. ‘Excellence,’ he wailed. ‘I’m sure the man was dead. And how could it be a messenger? The temple grounds have been sealed off all day. Besides, if Libertus is ill-omened and we take him to the shrine . . . Forgive me . . . Oh, blessed Mercury, we shall all be doomed!’

  But it was too late. Marcus frowned, and tapped his baton on his palm impatiently. ‘You heard me, sub-sevir.’

  I had brought this on myself. Marcus had given his command, and there was no help for it.

  Which is how I came to find myself walking alone with Hirsus, through the inner gate into the darkness of the temple grounds.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It was getting seriously dark by now. Dark clouds had blocked out whatever stars there were and the feeble light of the taper we were carrying only served to make our surroundin
gs seem more mysterious. Also there was suddenly a damp chill in the air. I am a rational man – or try to be – but even to me the graven faces of the gods appeared to stir as our moving torch-flame flickered across them, and a hundred expressionless stone eyes seemed to be silently following our every move.

  Beside me, Hirsus was panting with terror. I could see him fingering his amulet.

  I could feel my own pulse racing. From somewhere beyond the temple there came a faint, persistent roar. Too far away to be distinct, but rising and falling like the sea, with sometimes a high shout, louder than the rest. The crowd. I have heard them like this at the arena, shouting ‘Kill the netman! Death to the trident-bearer!’ I did not need to hear what they were chorusing tonight. I knew.

  Ours was not the only light in the precinct, however. In the distance we could dimly see the shadowy silhouettes of slaves, coming and going beside the outbuilding, with lamps or burning torches in their hands. Further off, half shrouded by the grove, we could see the dull red light of an altar fire. A group of dark figures could be seen, and behind them the columns of the Imperial temple gleamed menacingly in the glow.

  Hirsus, who had not addressed a single word to me, gestured towards all this with his hand. He was clearly too petrified to speak. It must be my presence, I thought suddenly, rather than his surroundings, which terrified him so. He must after all have crossed this courtyard a hundred times, and the shadows of the temple were his second home. I knew from Scribonius that the duty priest sometimes kept watch all night. Yet he was genuinely terrified. He really feared that I was cursed.

  I turned towards him, intending to say something reassuring, but he drew back with such a sharp gasp of alarm that I thought better of it, and simply allowed him to guide me to the shrine.

  Meritus was there, with Scribonius, and a whole team of temple slaves with lighted brands. They were ranged around the outer altar once again, and from the mingled smell of burning feathers, blood and fur, it was clear that they were offering continuous sacrifice.