“I curse this man! I curse his expedition, and all who take part in it! I curse all who support it in Rome! In the name of all the gods I have invoked thus far, I invoke the most terrible execrations upon the head of Marcus Licinius Crassus!”
Every jaw of the multitude sagged with disbelief. Unconsciously, we covered our heads as if attending a sacrifice. Everywhere, people were pulling out protective amulets and making the ancient hand gestures to ward off evil. A geniune, priestly curse was a great rarity, usually invoked only against a foreign enemy or, very rarely, a Roman traitor. Curses were only performed by qualified priests and then only under rigidly prescribed safeguards to prevent the curse from rebounding upon the priest and anyone else standing nearby.
Thus far? I thought. Who was left to invoke? I soon learned.
Ateius reached into a fold of his weird robe and took out something that looked like a dried snake. This he cast into the flames, releasing a foul-smelling smoke. He drew forth a similarly dried human hand and cast it in. Herbs, roots, preserved animal and human parts went into the green flames. He snapped the wand in two and placed it on the flames. Then he drew a small, hook-bladed knife. With this he opened a vein on his forearm, and, as his blood dripped sizzling into the fire, he resumed his chant.
“Father Dis, Plutus of the Underworld, Eita, Charun of the Hammer, Tuchulcha, Orcus, and all the Manes and Lemures, summon to the enforcement of my curse all the unspeakable minions of your realm!” And now he got down to the real business of the day.
“Immortals! I invoke—” and here he spoke a name that was forbidden for any man below the priestly rank of flamen to pronounce, and even then only in the company of enrolled priests of the State. And then he spoke another. And another. These were unthinkably ancient, half-forgotten gods, most of them worshiped in Italy before the foundation of the City. Some were Etruscan gods, and Etruscans were the most powerful magicians outside of Egypt. Even now, all these many years later, the pen trembles in my hand as I think of that day. Well, my hand trembles these days anyway, but this is worse.
I heard him speak the name of a god I had thought was only known within my own family, one we called upon to communicate with our dead ancestors at special Caecilian rites, after the paterfamilias had performed all the protective and purificatory rites. I looked around me and saw every major priest of the State gone dead white. The virgo maxima had her hands clamped tightly over her ears, and all the Vestals behind her did the same. The other citizens stood with looks of stupefied terror. One rarely sees people who are both panic-stricken and absolutely still.
Ateius’s voice rose to an eerie, wailing shriek. At first the words were in one of the ancient, ritual languages that even Etruscans no longer understand, but that are terrifying just to hear. Then, in Latin:
“I curse him forever, in life and in death! I curse his friends and followers! In the name of all the gods and demons I have invoked, I curse them all forever! Immortals, hear me!” With the last word, he kicked the brazier over, and it toppled from the top of the gate to the pavement, scattering flame and hot coals and foul-smelling substances indiscriminately. People drew back shrieking as clothes were set smoldering, and when we had wit to look up again, Ateius was gone. For a long time, nobody spoke.
At last Cato uncovered his head. “What a time for the pontifex maximus to be out of the City! He’s the only one with authority over this sort of thing.”
Cicero came up to us. “At least Caesar would be able to control this crowd,” he said. “They’re like stunned cattle now, but in a few moments they’ll come halfway to their senses, and there will be a riot such as we’ve never seen before! They are terrified!”
“There’s one they’ll listen to,” I said. “Wait here.”
I went over to the huddle of Vestals. The virgo maxima was an aged aunt of mine, and the most revered person in Rome. The priests and augurs were mostly politicians, and viewed as such except when conducting rituals, but the Vestals were the embodiment of Rome itself.
“Auntie, dear,” I said, “you had better speak to this crowd, or they will tear the City apart. Assure them that this curse will not fall upon them.”
“I can assure them of no such thing,” she said. “But I will do what I can.”
She strode to the center of the plaza, awesome, but serene, in her dazzling white robe. A jerky, spastic muttering had broken out among the crowd, but it stilled when she went to stand by the consuls.
“Romans!” she called out. “Our ancient and sacred City is unclean. I forbid all work, all celebration, all activities save those for the maintenance of life. There will be no sacrifices, no funerals, no manumission of slaves, no courts, no official business of any sort.” She turned to Crassus. “Marcus Licinius Crassus, leave the City of Rome instantly, and bear your curse with you. Go forth to take up imperium over your province and accomplish whatever mischief is in your heart, but leave.”