Oracle of the Dead(9)
Sure enough, the next delegation I received consisted of followers of Hecate, an odd mixed group of small merchants and prosperous farmers. They were very irate over the pollution of their sacred river and the damage that this murder might do to the prestige of their Oracle.
“My friends,” I said to them, “I am not a pontifex to pronounce upon matters of religion. In any case, our pontifexes are in charge only of the state religion of Rome. Yours is a local cult and I have neither knowledge nor authority to deal with your problems. I am a magistrate, and I will discover who committed this murder. Matters of ritual contamination you must sort out for yourselves.” They, too, left looking quite unsatisfied.
Next came a delegation of local merchants of the more prosperous sort, some of them heads of local guilds, like my friend Plotius. Their spokesman was one Petillius, a man who owned a great many properties in Cumae, Pompeii, and other towns in the vicinity.
“Noble Praetor,” he began, “we are terribly concerned with the damage this scandal is likely to do to the prosperity of our region. People come here from all over Italy and even from overseas to consult with the Oracle. We fear that this matter may curtail the customary pilgrimage this year.”
“I take it that you own a number of inns where these travelers are accustomed to stay?”
“Why, yes, many of us own such properties.”
“And taverns, eating establishments, and other businesses catering to the transient trade?” I inquired.
“Yes, Praetor. This matter could be very bad for us.”
“I dare say. Well, my friends, I have a feeling that, all too soon, this little matter of a murdered priest may be remembered fondly as a mere diversion in the good times.”
“Ah, Praetor,” Petillius said, shaking his head ruefully, “there is nothing that such men as we can do about the rivalries of great men. We can only hope that our homes will be treated gently in the strife to come. That is for the future. This, however, is immediate. Something must be done.” He was, of course, a practical man, as were they all. The looming catastrophe that seemed so imminent to me, and so potentially fatal for myself and my family, was to these men a remote matter, and no more controllable than storms and earthquakes and other forces of nature, such as that volcano smoking so ominously nearby.
“And something shall be done,” I assured him, as I had been assuring everybody lately. “Being done right now, in fact. My men are searching and questioning all over the district. The killer or killers will turn up soon. I expect cooperation from you as well. You locals are the most likely to spot these fleeing priests and I want them reported instantly should they be seen. I will deal very harshly with anyone who seeks to conceal them or hide any evidence from me.”
“Of course you shall have our fullest cooperation, Praetor. Nobody wants these murderers found more sincerely than we.”
“See that it is so.” This another group went off, not truly happy. I wasn’t pleasing anyone much that day.
It is in times like this, when some shocking event shatters the customary calm of a district, that the true nature of men’s relations with one another come out. The peace between rival groups begins to crack like poor stucco, revealing the rotten timbers beneath. Old grudges, thought to be forgotten, come suddenly to mind. Trivial or even imaginary slights and insults loom large, and thoughts of revenge and retribution prey upon men’s minds. Add to that the general tension caused by impending war in Italy, and we had the makings of a full-scale civil brawl on our hands, and all of it set in motion by a death that, however bizarre, had not even been proven to be murder.
I gestured for Hermes to come to me. “Hermes, are you sober enough to do a little more snooping?”
“Are you implying that I am drunk?” he said, swaying slightly.
“Nothing of the sort. Just curtail your intake for a while. We need to know something more. I know that Pompey is powerful here in Campania. He settled many of his veterans here. See what the locals feel about Caesar, and how the lines are drawn hereabouts.”
He went off to snoop and doubtless drink some more. The settlement of the Campanian lands had been a thorny one, much disputed in the Senate and fought over for years. Pompey had wanted the land to settle his veterans, who had served for many years and needed farms to retire to. His enemies in the Senate fought this, both because they wanted the land for themselves and because they knew it would give Pompey a strong power base near to Rome. Back then Pompey and Caesar had been friends, Pompey was married to Caesar’s daughter, and Caesar had worked hard to get Pompey the land settlement. In time he had succeeded, and now the countryside was full of Pompey’s veterans, each man with his arms hung above the hearth, ready to flock to the eagles at Pompey’s summons.