John Roberts - Oracle of the Dead

Likewise, in another variation of the same dream, I sometimes found myself in the Forum, seeking some person I knew to be there, but always being frustrated in my goal. Some petitioner would always demand my attention just as I was about to find the person I sought. Or a procession of Vestals would come between me and my goal.

These are commonplace dreams, like the one in which you are a schoolboy again and the master has scheduled an examination in Greek, or Homer’s poetry or the like, and you have not studied or prepared in any way and are in a panic. Everyone has these dreams, and they have nothing to do with the gods but are only a reflection of your own inner concerns. Such was my dream that night.

It had no coherent narrative or progression. It was just a repeated series of scenes in which I was in the tunnel of the Oracle, walking about tapping on the walls, trying to find hinges or hidden trapdoors or anything else that would help me solve the murder of Eugaeon and the others. In this dream, Hermes and the other men were not with me. I wandered alone in my bafflement.

In the dream, from time to time I would look up and see those vent slots. They loomed much larger that they had in real life. Somehow, they were trying to tell me something. In some fashion, they seemed to be important, even crucial. I heard sounds coming from them, not words but vague, inchoate sounds, like those I had heard on my first venture down the tunnel, when certain sounds had seemed to form words, if I could only hear them clearly enough.

In time I awoke and I knew where I should be looking. Julia noted my altered expression as we sat on a terrace outside our bedroom for a breakfast of the inevitable cherries, sliced fruit, bread, and honey.

“You look transformed,” she said. “Did a god visit you in the night?”

“I don’t believe so. I’ve had that sort of night vision, and in those cases it was pretty clear which god appeared to me, and what he or she wanted me to do. This was different. It told me something I had been overlooking, but there was no divine person communicating with me. It may merely have been that my own mind, unable to make sense of things in the waking state, sorted them out somehow in the dreamworld.”

“What an interesting concept,” she said. “And what did this vision tell you?”

“That the vent slots in the ceiling of the tunnel and the shrine are the key to what has been happening here.”

“In what fashion?” she asked.

“That I don’t know, but I intend to look into it.” I sent for Hermes. He appeared within moments.

“Hermes, go fetch that master stonemason-what’s his name?”

“Ansidius Perna.”

“That’s the one. Go find him and bring him to me at once.”

“What is this about?” he asked.

“Why should I explain myself to you?” I demanded. “Go do as I bid you.”

“Well,” Julia said, “aren’t we grand this morning. Why don’t you tell him why you want to question the man?”

“Are you now taking sides against me with my freedman?” I demanded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Julia said. “Hermes, he’s had some sort of insight concerning the ventilation holes in the tunnel of the Oracle. You know what he’s like in times like this, he’s not entirely sane or responsible.”

This was the sort of respect I got in my own home. In any case, Hermes left to find the master mason. I chewed on my breakfast and mused. “That air is coming in from somewhere,” I said. “But where?” Julia looked at me as if I were insane. Then I compounded her doubts. “So if air is coming in, what else might be?”

“What else could come through tiny little slits in the rock?” she demanded.

“Sounds,” I told her. “Voices.”

“But,” she pounced, triumphantly, “you said that you found none of those vent slits in the chamber of the Oracle.”

“They weren’t needed there, if my thoughts are on track,” I said. “I’m pretty sure now what they were used for, I just need to know where they came from.”

By late morning, Hermes was back with Perna. “What does the praetor wish of me?” he asked.

“You will accompany me back to the tunnel of the Oracle.” I said. “There are some questions about its construction that I wish you to clear up for me.” I said these things in the tones of a Roman magistrate, tones leaving no scope for protest or debate, tones that allowed for nothing save obedience.

He knuckled his forehead. “As the praetor wishes.”

A while later we were on our way to the temple complex. Besides Perna, Hermes and a dozen or so of my men rode with us, together with my lictors.

“What’s this about, Praetor?” Perna asked.

“I want to know everything you can tell me about the ventilation system that provides air to the tunnel.”

“Oh. I see.” Of course he comprehended nothing, but knew better than to question me in my present mood.

We found the temple complex doing a fine business. The impromptu fair had dispersed, but there were plenty of petitioners seeking the advice of the Oracle. Iola emerged from the tunnel with her latest group and looked surprised to see me and alarmed at the size of my entourage.

“What may I do for the praetor?” she asked, approaching my horse. Behind her were a number of her acolytes, looking even more apprehensive.

“Iola, I must go into the tunnel again. There are some things I did not look into last time.”

“Sir, we have many people who need the counsel of Hecate.” She gestured toward the small crowd resting beneath the shade of the trees.

“They can come back another time. This is official business. It is business in which you should best not interfere.”

She bowed. “Even the servants of the gods must yield to the authority of Rome.”

I dismounted. “Perna, you and Hermes come along with me.” We went to the tunnel and ignited the torches we carried. We didn’t have to go far inside. I stopped at the first set of ventilation slots and held my torch up. The flame was drawn slightly toward the first slot.

“Perna, what lies above this tunnel? I know there must be some sort of channel to convey air into or out of the tunnel. What is its nature?”

Perna took a close look at the slot. “Well, there must be a tunnel up there, lying parallel to this one, following it down.”

“How large would that tunnel be?”

He shrugged. “At least as large as this one. It couldn’t be any smaller, or there’d be no room for whoever carved it.”

“Where would that tunnel lead?” I asked him.

“I don’t know of any tunnels surfacing anywhere near here. Of course, it might’ve caved in or got filled with rubble. But there’s enough clearance for air to move, or everyone would suffocate down there.” He pointed down the dimly lit descending tunnel.

“I need to know exactly where it leads. Perna, this is what I want you to do: I want you to go find some really good stone carvers. Bring them back here, equipped with their tools-and be quiet about it.”

“What do you need them for?” he asked.

“I want them to carve a hole up there,” I pointed to the slot, “large enough for us to get into the overhead ventilation tunnel. I want to know exactly where it leads, in both directions.”

“But, Praetor,” he said, “what about the goddess? She’ll consider this a desecration, and from what I hear, she’s a bad goddess to cross. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Hecate.”

“Nonsense,” I told him. “Temples get altered and augmented and restored all the time. The gods never take notice of a little chiselwork. We’ll tidy it up nicely when we’re done and I’ll make a handsome gift for the goddess. Now go, and remember, not a word of what we are doing here.”