Oracle of the Dead(77)

“Ah, yes,” I said. “The temple has undergone some extensive renovations recently. Your family paid for that?”

“It was our hereditary duty as patrons,” he said. “Of course our own patron, the great general Pompey,” I noted that he said this without irony, “covered part of the expenses. I believe he would gladly have covered it all. Such sums mean nothing to him. But my father was too stiff-necked and proud a patrician to let someone else help out more than was proper.”

“That was quite admirable,” said Julia, predictably.

“Yes, well, it didn’t make him happy about the necessity.”

“I don’t mean to pry into the finances of your family,” I said, “but do you know how your father managed to pay for the restorations?”

He smiled sourly. “You mean since we Pedarii are notoriously penurious despite our patrician status? To be honest, I do not know. I thought that he had sold off some old family treasures that he had hidden somewhere. I began to think differently when I went through his papers after his death.”

“When were the restorations undertaken?” I asked him.

“About nine years ago. It seems odd, now,” he said.

“Odd how?”

“Because that was when he stopped visiting the temple altogether. You would think he would have taken pride in the task he had paid for. When men do that, they seldom omit to show themselves and accept the honors of the community.”

“That is very true,” I said. I had paid for such things myself, and I certainly would never have gone to the expense if it hadn’t spread my fame and made people remember my name at election time. This is the traditional motivation that causes prominent men to undertake public works. So why did old Pedarius pay up and then avoid the place?

“I am going to want a look at those papers,” I said.

“I’ve brought them, and, as my friend Cordus suspected, among the family records is a tolerably complete listing of the priests of the Oracle of Hecate. Although our association is with the Temple of Apollo, the temple and the Oracle for all practical purposes form a single complex. It seems that in centuries past they were not on a basis of mutual hostility and shared in the patronage.”

I sighed. “Yes, much that appears terribly ancient here is of comparatively recent origin. Only the tunnel to the underground river itself, and the recently uncovered ventilation tunnel, are of great antiquity.” This was the first Cordus and Pedarius had heard of the ventilation tunnel, but I was not yet ready to make that common knowledge. “I am convinced that this whole business has been about money.”

Julia looked uncomfortable. She was ready enough to discuss these sordid matters in private, but she felt it improper to speak of matters as base as money in front of a fellow patrician.

“Now, my friend Cordus,” I said. “About that slave sale.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the historian. “There was nothing at all difficult about its location. The town praetor’s office keeps records of all such transactions. But there was one thing that threw me off the scent, so to speak, and caused quite a bit of searching. You said that the seller was one Aulus Plantius, an itinerant slave dealer . . .”

“That was the name given me by the girl herself,” I told him. “It comes as no surprise that she lied, but she had been coached. My friend Duronius, who was my host that evening, confirmed that there was a slave dealer of that name, who sold him a cook.”

“Yes, I ran across a record of that very transaction, which took place several days before the sale of the girl.” He passed me his copy of the record of sale. I read the name of the seller and smiled. I passed it to Julia and her eyebrows went up. Then she looked at me.

“Gentlemen,” I said, “I thank you. I will study the records Lucius Pedarius has brought later. I think I have everything I need now. I do hope you will accept my hospitality and stay for the—well, I won’t call it a trial, but it will be a most damning presentation before the public.”

“I would not miss it for anything,” Cordus said.





12





THE DAY DAWNED SPLENDIDLY. IT HAD the sort of clear light spilling over the unspoiled countryside that the pastoral poets love to sing about. I detest pastoral poetry. To me the day was splendid because it put me one day closer to Sicily. As much as I loved southern Campania, I was anxious to be away.

At midmorning, Cato and his little band came clumping down the road, Cato giving the impression of wearing army boots despite his bare feet. He wore an expression of grim determination. Now that I think of it, that was the only expression he ever wore, with variations that included scorn, anger, and contempt.