Oracle of the Dead(20)

“You possess a certain sophistication in these matters,” I told him.

Perna grinned. “One of the plagues of the building trades is that, for some reason, idlers always want to hang about construction sites, gawk, and get in the way.”

“I’ve noticed the phenomenon.”

“Well, I’ve hired more than one priest or soothsayer to keep them away. Usually, it works.”

“Thank you, my friend,” I said, with a hearty politician’s clap on the shoulder. “You have given me much to think about.”

“I am happy to be of help,” he said. “But, if you don’t mind my asking, what has the stonework to do with what happened here?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted, “and ultimately this may be of no assistance. But I long ago discovered that learning everything there is to know about a place or a scene or a family can have great bearing upon the solution of a crime.”

“If you say so, Praetor,” he said doubtfully. Another one who didn’t understand.

Next I summoned Hermes. “Find me the local historian,” I ordered him, and this time he knew better than to question me. I knew that there would be one. There always is. Usually it is some tiresome old pedant, one with nothing better to do, who busies his normally worthless time with compiling the trivia of local history: its mythical antecedents, the wars fought and social movements, local genealogies. Rome was full of them, having so much history. Having created so much history, for that matter. The virtue of such people was that they needed little provocation to talk about their favorite subject. The problem was to narrow their recitations to the topic you were interested in.

About lunchtime, Julia appeared with Iola. The priestess looked considerably less haughty than before. Her eyes were haunted rather than illuminated with a self-induced religious fire. “Praetor, how may I help you in this terrible matter?”

“First of all, please, both of you, be seated.” Julia conducted her to a chair, then took one herself. Julia was usually not slow to assert herself, but when I was seated in the curule chair she had to comport herself humbly. Cato at his most patriotic never had greater respect for Republican traditions than Julia.

“Now, first,” I said, “Iola, I want you to swear to me, before all the gods, that you and your people had nothing to do with the killing of the entire staff of the Temple of Apollo. I will summon whatever priests or other sacerdotes you require to make your oath binding. But you must know that to make such an oath before a Roman magistrate, you already swear before Jupiter, Juno, and Mars.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. “I am quite aware of this, Praetor. Your gods are not mine, but I acknowledge their sovereignty. I swear by Hecate that I will tell you nothing but the truth—and I swear by the Styx.” Julia jerked a look at her. By tradition, only the gods of Greece swore by the Styx, but her cult was a peculiar one, with a special relationship to that dread river.

“That will do. Now, has your cult any knowledge of the tunnel leading from the Temple of Apollo to the subterranean river?”

“We have—long suspected such a thing,” she said uncertainly.

“How so?”

“The adepts of our religion can detect disturbances in our communications with our goddess. We felt that someone was conducting ceremonies concurrent with our own, to destroy our communion   with Hecate.”

This was exactly the sort of supernatural drivel I was hoping to keep out of my investigation, but it seemed to be unavoidable. “Had the staff of Apollo’s temple threatened you?”

“Never directly. There has always been a policy of strict silence between us.”

“Indirectly?”

She was silent for a while. “While the priests themselves would never speak to us, the people of the district who follow their god made no secret of their hostility.”

“Yes, I’ve heard a bit about the local religious rivalries. But that’s been going on forever. Were there any threats, serious threats, quite recently?”

“No, Praetor, there were not.”

I had to take her word for it, but I held my reservations. It was not in her best interests to admit that she had a good reason to kill the priests. I dismissed her and sat brooding for a while.

“What are you thinking?” Julia asked at length. It was a question I heard often from her. Usually, I kept a store of innocuous answers in readiness for it. This time, though, I saw no particular reason to prevaricate.

“The girl saw the priests go down into their tunnel carrying torches and lamps. We found none down there. Not only the bodies but the whole chamber had been tidied up. It suggests that a number of people conspired in the murders. Yet so far as we have been able to ascertain, no parties of visitors arrived while we were consulting with the Oracle. It suggests that the murderers were already in the temple.”