Oracle of the Dead(35)
“For one thing,” I said, “the identity of the person who killed her, who is probably also the one who suborned her into her part in the murder. It seems to have been someone she trusted.”
“A lover, perhaps?” Julia said. “After all, she was pregnant.” This was news to our guests, and Julia explained.
“This adds another dimension,” Gitiadas said. “Now there is scope for jealousy, love, treachery, betrayal, and a host of other motives. You should have invited the playwright. I’m sure he is far better regarding matters of the heart than dusty philosophers and historians.”
“Just more complication,” I groused. “As if this matter didn’t have enough of that already.”
6
THE NEXT DAY I TOOK MY PERAMBUlating court to Stabiae. It is another of those charming towns on the bay, blessed with a wonderful climate and views fit for the enjoyment of the gods. For part of the way the road took us along the top of a precipitous cliff, causing the ladies of the party (yes, the ladies were along again) to cry out with fright and pretend to faint. We men just looked Stoic.
The town was founded by Oscans, but about forty years before this time they had chosen the wrong side in the Social War and had risen in rebellion against Rome, a famously bad decision for any town to make but especially foolhardy for a tiny resort like Stabiae. As a result, it was destroyed by Sulla and the site was given to the Nocerians, who had remained loyal. They had resettled and rebuilt the city, and now it was once again a favorite resort, with the town plan centered on its medicinal springs instead of the usual forum or temple complex.
As we neared the city, our party was joined by an ornate litter carried by a set of Gauls who wore the twisted neck rings common to that race, their blond hair and mustaches dressed identically. As it drew alongside my saddle, a hand with gilded nails pushed its curtain aside. “Praetor! You should have told me you would be visiting my city.” It was Sabinilla. This time she wore a red wig, to complement her green gown.
“I knew you would insist that I stay at your home, and I have no wish to impose a party this size upon you when there is a perfectly good official residence available in the town.”
“Nonsense! I do insist you stay with me! I’m sure I am not so poor that I can’t afford to entertain a praetor’s entourage properly. I shall be insulted if you refuse.”
“In that case, how can I say no? Give my freedman directions to your home and I will join you there as soon as I conclude my business for the day.” She was overjoyed, or put on a good show of it. I had indeed not let her know I was going to Stabiae for precisely this reason. I knew that she would try to outdo everyone else who had entertained me in the lavishness of her hospitality. At another time this would have suited me perfectly, but now my pleasant stay in Campania had turned serious, and I wanted no more distraction. I told Hermes to get the party settled at Sabinilla’s villa while I went to confer with the city officials.
“Cheer up,” he advised me. “There are worse fates than being entertained to death.”
With a few of my helpers and preceded by my six lictors I rode on into the beautiful city, where I was greeted with the usual choruses of children and girls in white gowns who strewed flower petals in my path and local poets who read panegyrics composed in my honor. At least, I think they were panegyrics. I’ve never been too clear on the distinction between a panegyric and an ode. Oh well, as long as it’s not a eulogy, I’ve no cause to complain.
The city offices were in the Temple of Poseidon, which was Stabiae’s finest. The town is located on the sea, so the sea god is naturally held in great reverence there. Also, the region is very prone to earthquakes and Poseidon is the god of earthquakes. Furthermore the locals revere Poseidon as the patron of their hot springs, so he is held in triple reverence.
Of course I was taken in to see the statue of the god, a stunning bronze by the sculptor Eteocles, only a bit larger than life-size, and in an unusual pose: standing, his left arm thrust forward in the fashion of a javelin thrower, right extended rearward, balancing the trident as if for a cast. His hair and beard were enameled blue, a treatment I had never seen before on a statue, paint being more commonly used. His eyes and teeth were likewise enameled, rather than the more common ivory and silver treatment. Everything about the image was exquisite, and I was not sparing in my praise. The trip would have been worth it just to see the statue.
We retired to an office and took care of the modalities: the location for the morning’s court, the officials to be present, and the order of hearing the cases to be presented.