John Roberts - Oracle of the Dead

“Very lively, I would say. They were two aggressive, warlike people who wanted the same land. Plus, the Greek cities, being Greek, fought endlessly among themselves. That temple may have been erected and demolished a number of times. It was dedicated to the god Mamers, who can be identified with Mars. But a far grander Temple of Mamers was erected at Cumae, and eventually this one was abandoned. In time, the Greeks turned it into the Temple of Apollo. That was about two hundred years ago.”

“Did the rivalry between the followers of Apollo and those of Hecate date from the time that the Campanians and Greeks were fighting over this territory?”

“Something like that. I think that it came to serve as a substitute for open hostilities, especially after Rome imposed peace on the region.”

“Well, sometimes you can keep people from fighting, but you can’t stop them from hating one another. The Greeks and the Trojans would probably still hate each other, if there were any Trojans left.”

“Such seems to be the nature of men,” Cordus said.

“So it’s always good to be the strongest. That is what Rome determined to do. Always be the strongest. That way it doesn’t matter if people hate you, because you can always whip them and they know it and don’t dare say anything aloud.”

“Ah, that is very true, Praetor. We are the terror of the world.” This to remind me that he was a citizen, too. “A terror in a good way, of course. Where Rome has conquered, Rome establishes peace.”

“Yes, well, we seem to be straying from the subject. In all your studies, have you seen any mention of this tunnel beneath the temple, where we found the dead priests?”

“In fact, I have.”

“What? The thing seems to have been a mystery to everybody else!”

He smiled. “How many people bother to read records of construction work from two hundred years ago? In the city archive of Baiae I ran across a contract between the founders of the temple and one Skopas of Alexandria for ‘the construction of a crypt beneath the Temple of Apollo by the Bay of Baiae.’ It does not specify a tunnel, but as far as I know, there is no rule limiting how far down a crypt can be.”

“Wonderful!” I said. “This is the virtue of paying attention to paperwork. One document is worth any number of legends.”

“And this knowledge will be of use in your investigation?”

“I have no idea. But it is wonderful to actually know something in this maze of myths. Earlier today the master stoneworker said that the workmanship on the trapdoor looked Alexandrian. He also said that the easiest way to do it without the locals noticing would have been when it was remodeled to Greek taste.”

“Very sagacious,” he said, nodding. “The question remains: Why did they do it?”

“I don’t know, and I certainly hope that it has no bearing on the investigation.”

We spoke a while longer but he had nothing further to offer, though he promised to pitch into his studies with great zeal to find me more information. I thanked him profusely, for he had proven to be of real assistance. I gave him a small sack of gold and silver “in case he had to travel,” and he went away beaming, happy to have the money, a full stomach, and, above all, to have his wisdom praised and appreciated by one in authority. The path of scholarship can be thankless and unrewarding.

That evening, my kinsman Marcus Caecilius Metellus came down from Rome for a visit. He was a young man just setting out on his political career, and he had been in my traveling entourage since I entered the praetorship. A month before, I had sent him to Rome to gather the latest gossip for me. For true Romans, being separated from the City is an almost physical affliction. One can stand being separated from the center of the world for only so long. This is why we consider exile such a terrible punishment. Many exiles go insane or commit suicide in despair. At dinner, we were all ears to hear the latest.

“First, the best news, Decius,” he began. Here at dinner, among close friends and relatives, he was free to address me by my praenomen instead of my title. “You know that Appius Claudius has been going through the senatorial roll like a great scythe, expelling senators for corruption, bribery, debt, and immorality?”

“Everybody knows that,” I said. This Appius Claudius was the brother of my old enemy Clodius, but was a man of the highest rectitude for whom I always had the greatest respect.

“Well, among others, he expelled Sallustius for immorality!”

I laughed so hard that wine shot out of my nose and it was a few minutes before I regained possession of myself. “Wonderful! Too bad it was only immorality, though. He’s guilty of every one of the practices Claudius is so determined to stamp out.”

“One was enough,” said Marcus. “He doesn’t dare show his face in the Forum.”

This Sallustius was a wretched climber I had known for far too long. He was as corrupt as any senator who had ever disgraced the curia, and in those years that was very corrupt indeed. He was always trying to ingratiate himself with me and I could not stand his insinuating manner. In later years, with no further political or criminal activity to distract him, he styled himself a historian.

“On a less happy note,” Marcus went on, “Caesar and the Senate seem to be on a collision course.”

“Well,” I said resignedly, “it’s been coming.” Caesar wanted to retain his extraordinary command in Gaul and Illyria. He also wanted to stand for consul in the elections for the coming year. The problem was, the Senate demanded that he return to Rome to stand for office in the traditional manner, but a Roman propraetor or proconsul lost his imperium the moment he stepped across the pomerium . The Senate already had Caesar’s successor picked out.

“The Senate has decreed that Caesar, if he wants to keep his proconsulship, is to stay north of the Rubicon.” This river was the border between Italy and Caesar’s province.

“He won’t,” I said. “He’ll cross, and he’ll bring all his legions with him. I know him and I know his soldiers. After what he’s accomplished the last ten years, all the victory and loot he’s brought them, those men will lay siege to Rome if he asks them. And he will.”

“Rubbish!” Julia said heatedly. “Caesar will never oppose the Senate with armed force. He has too great a respect for Roman traditions. There are senators who foolishly wish to dishonor him, but he respects that august body like any good Roman. What has Lepidus to say?” Lucius Aemilius Lepidus Paullus, one of that year’s consuls, tried to support Caesar, who had, among other favors, given him the money to restore the ancestral Basilica Aemilia. Unfortunately his colleague, Claudius Marcellus, was Caesar’s deadly enemy and a much more forceful man. Julia’s affection for her uncle led her into the dangerous paths of wishful thinking.

“Lepidus tries, as always, to support Caesar. But that is getting to be a minority position in the Senate. The Assemblies, as always, favor Caesar.”

“Cicero,” Marcus went on, trying to lighten the mood, “has already run from Cilicia. He made huge efforts to prevent having his proconsulship prorogued. He’s already petitioned the Senate for a triumph.”

“A triumph?” I said. “For that trifling victory?” Cicero, that most reluctant of soldiers, had gone to govern Cilicia and had eventually scored a win over what amounted to a pack of bandits.

“His troops hailed him as imperator.” Marcus said.

“The standards of Roman legionaries have fallen if that lot declared Cicero imperator.” Ordinarily I did not speak disparagingly of Cicero, whom I admired above most Romans and counted as a friend. Although in his later career he became foolishly grandiose and self-important. The very thought of the spindly, unmilitary Cicero riding in triumph through Rome for so trifling a victory was deeply embarrassing.