John Roberts - Oracle of the Dead

He barked out a short laugh. “Spoken like a true Metellus. You’re an arrogant lot, no doubt of that.” He leaned close. “Look here, Decius Caecilius. I need this matter settled quickly. I’ll be knee-deep in a war with Caesar soon and I can’t have any distractions plaguing me here in the south.”

“Why do you think whatever happens here can amount to a distraction for the likes of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus? This is a piddling, local affair. It’s nothing on the big game board of world power. There are only two players on that board now, you and Caesar.” The game board image was one Clodia had thrown at me years before, along with her withering contempt for my not being one of the big players. Clodia was the sister of my old enemy Clodius, and the most notorious woman of that time.

“Never mind that,” he said, suddenly cagey. “I have my reasons for wanting this matter over and forgotten, and they’re none of your business.”

“None of my business?” I said, feeling my face begin to flame. “You come in here with no authority and tell me to hurry up and solve this mess and you say your reasons are none of my business?”

He jumped up and his chair went over backwards. “My authority is the authority of a man who can whistle up twenty legions, all loyal to him alone. Nothing else counts these days. Remember that, Metellus.”

I stood too, wanting to tell him how useless his twenty legions would be against Caesar’s veteran killers. But I didn’t and I felt it was incumbent on me to keep the peace. “Oh, sit down. We can discuss this in a civilized fashion. No sense drawing swords before the war has even started.”

He sat without looking back to see if a slave had put his chair under him. Of course, the chair was right where he wanted it. That was always the way with Pompey. “Actually,” he said, “it’s about those legions that I’m here, not your case. I want my men to be prepared to mobilize at a minute’s notice. If Caesar dares to cross the Rubicon, which I doubt he will, he won’t leave me much time.”

He wasn’t a total dunce. He just didn’t understand how little time he would really have. “Will you be here long?”

“Longer than you’d like, but that’s just too bad. Before I leave, I want the crime solved and the killers executed.”

“This is a criminal investigation, not a military campaign. You can’t rush it along with a few floggings and summary executions.”

“I don’t see why not. Who are the most likely suspects?”

“At the moment, the devotees of Hecate.”

He spread his hands. “Well, then, there you are. Try them and execute them. Problem solved.”

“Somehow I knew you would suggest the simplest possible solution. I take it then that you are more interested in having things done with than finding the actual killer or killers.”

“As you’ve said, I have far more important matters to concern me. Personally, I don’t care who killed the priests, and what matter if some half-crazed priests of a foreign goddess are done away with? As long as the countryside is quiet, I will be satisfied.”

“The countryside will not be quiet if I execute the priestesses-most of Hecate’s clergy here are women, by the way-without glaring proof of their guilt. The cult is very ancient and deeply rooted in these parts. It has many more adherents than the Temple of Apollo. Plus, the local merchants have come to depend on the business that the Oracle brings to the district.”

He fumed for a while. “Just find someone to execute and do it soon.” He stood. “I’ll be off. I’ll be raising at least one legion from this district. I will need to requisition supplies from all the local towns. The men have their own arms and equipment, but I’ll want animals, tents, wagons, and a hundred other things.”

“See the city officials of the towns about that,” I advised him. “I’m just visiting.”

When Pompey rode out, amid much pomp and fanfare, the crowd cheered him lustily. As I’ve said, Pompey was a popular man in the south. Of course, they would have cheered Caesar just as happily. They were both popular men, but few of the men present planned to enlist in their legions. Whoever won, they would be content.

I heard my cases and there were few of them. In fact, I could have left at any time. I was only prolonging my stay because of the murders. That, and because I just liked the place. I had a pile of cases to hear in the north and in Sicily. That was a thought. Go to Sicily and dawdle there, wait out my year, and when I returned to Rome perhaps everything would be settled and I could keep out of it. At lunch that day I broached the subject to Julia and wished I hadn’t.

“What?” She looked at me as at some vile reptile. “You want to be clear out of Italy when great events are happening here?”

“It’s not so far,” I protested. “You can see across the Strait of Misenum to the Italian mainland.”

“It ill becomes you to behave in such a cowardly fashion. I think you should write to Caesar right now and offer him your services.”

“I still have the rest of the year of my praetorship to conclude,” I said.

“You have imperium,” she said pitilessly. “You do know what that means, don’t you? In case you’ve forgotten, I’ll tell you. It means you have the power to raise and command armies. What are you going to do when the Senate orders you to raise an army and march against Caesar? Have you thought of that?”

“Believe me, Julia, I’ve thought of very little else for months.”

“Then it’s time to make up your mind and decide which way you are going to go.”

“I have decided,” I told her. “I’ve decided that Sicily is a very fine place to be. I will go there as soon as this murder business is settled.”

She was furious but, for once, she held her tongue. This may have been for any of a number of reasons. She might have decided to comport herself as a good, patrician Roman wife and bow to her husband’s will. What a laugh. Or she may have decided to hammer at me late at night when I should be tired, a favorite tactic of hers and, I suspect, of all wives. She may have actually given the matter some sober thought and realized what a terribly dangerous predicament this put me in. Moreover and most likely, I suspected she was already writing her uncle and plotting with him, wangling a high position for me on his staff. Between Julia and the Senate and Pompey and Caesar it was like having my limbs tied to four elephants, each of them with orders to seek the home of one of the principal winds.

That afternoon, there being no nearby public baths, I walked into the virtual tent city that had sprung up near the Temple of Apollo. The place had become nearly self-sufficient, as food vendors and farmers and shepherds from the countryside had established a little forum where the transient population could purchase necessities. No more than a hundred paces from the encampment a stream furnished abundant water of excellent quality. As for what they were using for sanitary facilities, I did not inquire.

Some tents, sheds, and lean-tos housed nothing but individuals and families. These were the ones who had come with questions for the Oracle. I was tempted to tell them to watch out for oracular advice concerning money, but forebore. I was certain that my trial, when I should hold one, would expose the fraud sufficiently. The larger and more colorful shelters belonged to traveling merchants and mountebanks who lived on the roads all the year round, stealing when they could and selling when they had to. Italy had veritable tribes of these peripatetic folk, whom no one trusted but who seemed to serve a necessary function and were therefore tolerated, albeit with suspicion.

An itinerant cutler displayed his wares from an ingenious upright chest that opened out into three large panels on which hung everything from sickles to cleavers to daggers. Leaning against the chest were a dozen or so fine swords, some with jeweled sheath mounts suitable for officers and centurions. These piqued my interest and I spoke with the man, a bald-headed Bruttian.