Oracle of the Dead(7)

“How so?” she said, suspiciously.

“You seem to be conversant with this Hecate cult.”

“I’ve studied the ancient religions. I wouldn’t call myself an expert on them.”

“Still, you know more than I do. And it seems that women play a leading role in this cult. I want you to question Iola and the other priests and priestesses or acolytes or whatever they are. Women seem to be more comfortable talking to women than to male officials.”

“For good reason,” Julia said.

“Exactly. I, in the meantime, will set up a temporary headquarters for investigation here at the temple.”

“Do you think the matter is all that important? You are a Roman praetor with imperium. You could assign one of your men to conduct the investigation. You have more important matters demanding your attention.”

I looked about at our strange surroundings; the funereal glade with the beautiful temple rising above it. “I am not so sure about that. This is a very odd business and we know how upset people can get when someone of local prestige gets murdered. People are on edge right now anyway. All this tension between Caesar and Pompey and the Senate has people expecting the days of Marius and Sulla to return.”

“That is preposterous,” she protested.

“Nevertheless, the fear is there. I want a quick end to this business before the whole countryside is up in arms over a common murder.”

But I was soon to find that there was nothing at all common about this particular murder.





2





THE TROUBLE WAS NOT LONG IN STARTing. The first evening ended without either the fleeing priests or the mysterious access to the underground river found. The temple and its compound afforded fairly comfortable lodgings for me and the members of my entourage I chose to assist me. The rest I packed off to the villa where I was staying. It was an exceedingly luxurious establishment, built by Quintus Hortensius Hortalus, and one which he had hinted he might leave to me in his will. He lay even then on his deathbed so I knew the will would be read soon.

The next morning, people began calling upon me. I sat on the temple portico in my curule chair, which was draped with the customary leopard pelts, my lictors ranged before me with their fasces. First to arrive were a gaggle of white-robed priests of Apollo from several nearby temples. They were all Greek, of course. Apollo is a god respected by Rome, but he is not native to Italy and was imported from Greece. Thus his principal sacerdotes are Greek and his rituals are performed in the Greek fashion. Personally, I found him quite respectable, unlike some of the truly lunatic deities that had wormed their way into Italy in recent years. For some reason, despite having a perfectly good set of gods to see to their needs, Romans and other Italians were unreasonably enthusiastic about adopting new gods from all over the world, principally from Asia, where they breed gods like livestock. Many of these alien deities were so scabrous and their rites so scandalous that the censors expelled them from Rome with some frequency.

“Noble Praetor,” began the leader of this delegation, one Simonides. “We have come to ask of you what has been done about the atrocious murder of our beloved colleague, Eugaeon?”

“The investigation proceeds apace,” I assured him. “In fact, I suspect certain others of your colleagues of this murder.”

“That is out of the question,” he said, scandalized. “No priests of Apollo would ever do violence to one of their own!”

“Say you so? I’ve never noticed that any sort of person, given a motive, was ever backward about committing murder, priests included. You haven’t seen any of these furtive clergy, have you? My men have been searching all over for them.”

“None of them has appeared at our temples,” Simonides said. “We fear that they have been murdered as well.”

“Really? Maybe I should send someone down the tunnel to see if they’ve come bobbing to the surface. Who do you think would want to murder a whole temple staff?”

“The accursed followers of Hecate, of course!” snarled another of them.

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “they are about the only people in the vicinity I do not suspect. They were with my party from the time we said good-bye to Eugaeon until the moment he surfaced. I do not see how they could be culpable.”

“Do you know that all of them were with you, all of the time?” asked Simonides.

“Well, no. But they are being interrogated by one of my most merciless investigators.” The description fitted Julia pretty well.

“They will speak if you use rigorous methods,” advised Simonides. “They are no better than slaves, anyway. Use torture on them.”