Saturnalia(38)

“So I went to the fountain and washed the worst of it off, and when I went back it was light enough to see that it was Harmodia.”

“You knew her?”

“Oh, yes. She’d had her stall beneath arch number nineteen for years. Can’t say I knew her well. I try to avoid those countrywomen unless I need some doctoring, like when I get the toothache or belly cramps.”

“Describe her,” I said. The man’s cup was empty and Hermes refilled it.

“She wasn’t really a big woman but built sort of stocky. About thirty years old, not bad-looking. She had brown hair and blue eyes and all her teeth. She talked with a Sabellian accent, you know … Marsian. A lot of the herb women are from there, or Tuscia.”

“How was she killed?”

“Throat cut,” he said, drawing his stiffened fingers across his neck in the universal gesture. “And cut good, right down to the spine. That’s why all the blood.”

“Any other wounds?”

“Not that I could see. Of course, her dress was soaked with blood and for all I know she was stabbed as well. When the other countrywomen came in to set up their stalls, they took charge of the body and I went to the aedile’s office to report what I’d found. The aedile Murena came back with me and talked to the people who knew her for a while, then he left. That’s all I know, Senator.”

“Who claimed the body?” I asked him.

“Some of the market women said they’d take her back to her home. I think it was up around Lake Fucinus somewhere.”

“Did no one come forward who had witnessed the murder?”

He gave a cynical laugh. “Do they ever?”

“Seldom. Have there been any rumors?”

“Not that I’ve heard, and I guess that says something in itself.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, there are always rumors, aren’t there? If no one’s talking, it probably means somebody important is involved.”

“And the other herb women have said nothing?”

“Like I said, Senator, I don’t have more to do with them than I have to.” He looked as if his wiser nature was telling him to shut up, but the hot wine was warring with his wiser nature and in such a contest, wine always wins.

“Why is that?”

“Well,” he looked around, as if someone were trying to eavesdrop. The men at the other tables were rattling dice and knocking back wine, paying us no attention. “Well”—he went on—“they’re all witches, you know. They can put the evil eye on you, cast spells, all sorts of things.”

“But most are just harmless saga, surely?” I prodded.

“Not all of them,” he said, leaning forward, speaking low and earnestly. “Some are striga, and there’s no way of telling which are which until you get on the wrong side of them!” He sat back. “And people say they’re especially powerful right about this time, too.”

“Why should that be?”

He looked surprised. “Tonight’s one of their most important festivals, isn’t it? The eve of Saturnalia is when they dance and sacrifice and perform their rites, out on the Vatican field.”

This was the first I had heard of such a thing. “Why the Vatican?”

“There’s a plot of sacred ground out there,” he said. “It’s said to have a mundus and the witches can call up the dead through it or contact the gods of the underworld. Mark me, sir, at midnight tonight you won’t find a striga in the city. They’ll all be out there.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Marcus Urgulus,” I said, handing him a few denarii. “Here. Have a fine holiday.”

He thanked me and hurried off, leaving me to sit and ponder. Rome contains worlds within worlds. This world of the witches was a new one to me. It was a part of the world of the peasants and the small country towns, as the politics of the Senate and the rites of the great temples were parts of my own world. Witches and spells and poisons; the thought made my cut palm throb.

“Why all this talk of witches and their rites?” Hermes asked, the hot wine working on him as well. He looked uncomfortable with the subject.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought this would be a straightforward murder investigation, just a simple poisoning for sound personal or political reasons. Now we’re off into the realms of the occult and the supernatural.”

Like most educated people I was sharply sceptical of all superstitions and persons claiming supernatural powers. On the other hand, I knew better than to take chances. And the woman Furia had unnerved me. I couldn’t help but wonder: Just what did they do out there on the Vatican field?