Oracle of the Dead(10)

Technically, the struggle was between Caesar and the Senate, but here in Campania the Senate counted for little. Here the lines were drawn between the supporters of the great men of the day, and none were greater that year than Caesar and Pompey. In this territory, barely two generations under Roman control, all such loyalties were mutable. Eventually, Hermes returned.

“There aren’t very many of Pompey’s men in the immediate vicinity. Most of them settled to the north of here. The few I found to talk to don’t seem to care much about Apollo or Hecate.”

“That’s something of a relief. One more faction in this business would have been one too many.”

The presence of all those Pompeians had been a disturbing factor in my otherwise pleasant stay in Campania. Pompey had assured that, should Caesar prove recalcitrant, he could stamp his foot and raise an army. There were those in the Senate, chiefly of the most extreme aristocratic faction, urging him to stamp that foot. The rest of the Senate was more wary, feeling that they could negotiate with Caesar, but the times were bad ones for moderates and fence-sitters. We were drifting into another age of warlords. Sad to say, the Roman soldiers of that day felt their strongest allegiance to their generals, not to Rome. For a general who consistently led them to victory and loot, they would do almost anything.

Pompey’s veterans were such men, but I did not fancy their chances against Caesar’s troops, who had been fighting hard in Gaul for years. Pompey’s veterans were getting old and were long out of practice.

“There are those two legions training up near Capua,” I mused.

“What have they to do with this murdered priest and the troubles here in the south?” Hermes wanted to know.

“Eh? Oh, nothing. The thought of Pompey’s veterans set me thinking about the disposition of our soldiers and which way they might go if it comes to a break between Caesar and the Senate.”

“They’re new troops training for a war in Syria,” Hermes said. “They have no set loyalties and I suspect they’ll follow whoever the Senate sends to take charge of them. I don’t think they’ll be much threat to Caesar.” We had both spent a lot of time with Caesar’s army in Gaul, and knew all too well what a savage lot they were. Caesar had been leading them for eight years and they were his, body and soul. He had become their patron and they were his clientela.

As the day’s business was about to end, Julia came to report her findings. “I’ve spent all day with Iola and the rest of the Oracle’s staff.”

“I don’t suppose they confessed to complicity?”

“Not likely.”

“Pity. It would make things so much easier.”

“If only life were as simple as you wish it. No, but I have been learning a great deal about the Hecate cult, about its origins and history. It is quite fascinating.”

“I am sure. Anything about murderous enmity between the cultists and the priests of Apollo overhead?”

She sighed. “You are so single-minded when you are on an investigation, Decius. I wish you would give some time to culture and study.”

“All in good time, my dear. When I retire, I plan to write many long, boring books, perhaps even look into this philosophy business. Brutus and Cicero and some others of my acquaintance seem to set great store by it.”

“By the way, we are invited to dinner at the house of Marcus Duronius.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I’ve heard that he sets a splendid table.”

She poked my expanding waistline. Rather harder than necessary, in fact. “You should spend less time at the table and more in the gymnasium. This easy life is softening you.”

“The demands of office do not permit me much time for the gymnasium,” I told her. The derisive snort she made was quite expressive.

“I’m off to confer with some of the other priestesses nearby. I’ll meet you at the Villa of Duronius at dinnertime. Do try to show up sober.”

Sometimes I didn’t think that Julia trusted me. And I knew why she was suddenly concerned with my physical fitness. She expected me to spring to arms at Caesar’s call and join his army. Well, I had already been in Caesar’s army and wanted nothing to do with it. She thought Pompey was a prize villain and that the Senate was doing Uncle Caius Julius insufficient honor. Personally, I couldn’t see a fig’s worth of difference between Caesar and Pompey, and the Senate had already voted Caesar more honors than he’d earned. If he’d been denied a few of his demands, that was just the rough-and-tumble of Roman politics as they were in those days.

That evening, with just Hermes accompanying me, I arrived at the Villa of Duronius, quite sober. Well, mostly sober, anyway. Like most villas in that part of Italy, it was sprawling and spacious. Duronius was a wine importer and banker, a formula for riches if ever there was one. The company proved to be an entertainingly mixed lot, chosen to make for good conversation. For dignity, there was my distinguished self. For wealth, we had our host, Duronius. For beauty, there was an intriguing lady of Stabiae named Sabinilla. For wisdom, a philosopher of local repute named Gitiadas. For wit, there was the rising young playwright Pedianus, whose reputation for comedy was growing. For low good humor, we had Porcia, a corpulent freedman’s daughter and owner of many commercial properties all over Campania. In Rome it was rare for women to appear unescorted at a dinner party, but it was quite common in Campania. Women could own businesses and had property rights equal to those of men. It wasn’t necessary to be a widow to wield control over their own fortunes, and even married women could manage their own finances independently of their husbands. It was all very un-Roman.