Oracle of the Dead(17)

We began to pace back and forth across the floor, searching it for any sort of evidence. Long before, I had learned that people are careless and often leave behind evidence of their deeds. I had tried to teach my methods to other investigators, but they could never quite understand what I was getting at. Only my old friend the physician Asklepiodes understood, because he used a similar technique in his medical diagnostics and prognostics..

We went over the floor, but found nothing. Except for the bodies the place was incredibly neat, as if it had been thoroughly swept, perhaps even scrubbed. Why go to such trouble to tidy a place but leave dead bodies behind? I told Hermes to leave the torch and go summon the rest.

“It looks like this floor has been swept recently. There’s some dust in the angle where the wall meets the floor, but the rest is clean.”

“You’re right. Even a place like this should collect a little dust over the ages.”

Hermes went back up the stairway and left me brooding in the chamber. Several things about the place disturbed me. Here we had a second tunnel driven down through solid stone to water, yet there were numerous differences between them. For one thing, there was the shape of the chamber. The chamber of the Oracle was an elongated, irregular rectangle. This one was circular. It reminded me of a very ancient tomb I had been shown in Greece, one rumored to date to the time of Agamemnon. That one had the same beehive shape, though it had been built of massive stone blocks. The chamber of the Oracle had been cut down to the surface of the river. This one ended above it, with a well in its center. It was approached by a stair, not a ramped tunnel. And somehow—I cannot quite describe this—it did not have precisely the feel of antiquity that the other oozed like dampness from its walls. It was certainly not recent, but it did not feel so ancient.

Minutes later, the rest of the party arrived. I had decided to let a number of people see this rather than allow rumors to run rampant through the district.

“Well, this settles it,” Duronius said. “It wasn’t accident or suicide. It was murder.”

“But why kill a whole temple staff?” said Pedianus, still wearing his purple mantle and ivy wreath.

“More to the point,” Julia said, “why kill five and lay them out like this but throw Eugaeon down this well into the river?” She walked around the corpses, stepped to the lip of the hole, and peered down. Roman ladies of those days weren’t upset by dead bodies, what with all the disorder and combat in the City. These days they are more delicate. With all the peace and quiet enforced by the First Citizen, everyone has gotten disgracefully soft. I’ve seen patrician ladies turn pale at the sight of a gladiator being killed.

“Perhaps he wasn’t thrown down there,” said Gitiadas. “Perhaps he jumped in, hoping to escape the fate meted out to these five.”

“A valid speculation,” I approved.

“I’m not so sure,” Julia said. “Sextus Vespillo, bring that torch.” At her direction, the boy knelt at the lip of the well and lowered his torch inside. “The river is only a few feet down,” she reported. “The current seems fairly swift. I don’t think the chamber of the Oracle can be more than a few paces from here. Yet he was thoroughly dead when he arrived in our midst.”

“Another valid point,” I mused, “but Gitiadas was right about one thing: he said there had to be another access to the river near the chamber to account for all those bubbles. Now, has anybody here ever heard of a second tunnel? Even an old tale or rumor? I find it hard to believe that the Oracle’s tunnel to the Styx is so famous while this one is unknown.” The locals looked at one another and shrugged. No help there. Our host had thoughtfully brought along some burly slaves who carried sizable jugs of wine and others with cups; girls passed around cups to us all, and soon we were standing around the bodies sipping at the excellent vintage like guests at an embassy reception.

“Praetor,” Hermes said, “do you want to examine the bodies here or shall I have them carried above so you can see them when the sun is up?”

“Take them up,” I told him. “Torchlight is never adequate for a thorough examination.” That, and my aging eyes, I thought glumly. I was nearing my fortieth year.

Hermes went up to fetch some slaves. A while later he returned with them and the chamber grew very crowded. Already, the torches and lamps were making the air very close and we were all glad to vacate the premises. Once outside, everyone breathed deeply and with relief.

“Hermes,” I said, “first thing tomorrow, I want you to find the master of the local stoneworkers’ guild and summon him here.”