John Roberts - Oracle of the Dead

“I won’t even protest this,” Porcia said. “You have no power to condemn me. There is no jury here. Do as you like, I will take this all the way to the Senate at Rome.”

Then Iola turned on her. “Of course he can do nothing to you. You are a woman of citizen status. I am a foreigner and have no rights here!”

Porcia glared at her. “Be still!”

Yes, they were definitely falling out. Time to work on Iola again. “It was a cozy arrangement. Porcia provided the false Oracle. You picked the victims and committed the murders, except for those that had to be carried out at a distance by confederates, whom you will name for us later. Elagabal and probably others fenced the goods for you, and Manius Pedarius kept his mouth shut and stayed away. There was only one factor you did not have under control: those pesky priests of Apollo upstairs. They have been living side by side with you, only in a vertical fashion, for centuries. They just had to have noticed that there were odd doings going on down below.”

Now I addressed the assembled audience in sorrowful tones, “I would like to believe that Eugaeon was threatening to denounce the Hecate cult as criminals and mass murderers, but it is also possible that Eugaeon wanted in on it and demanded a cut for himself. Which was it, Iola?”

“You have no proof!” she said desperately.

“That’s a weak objection. No matter. Doubtless Apollo and Hecate will judge which of these people betrayed their trust, and in what fashion. Both are reputed to have terrible punishments in store for those who would violate their most sacred oaths.” Porcia looked unimpressed, but Iola was clearly terrified.

“Once Eugaeon approached her, for whatever purpose, Iola and her confederates began to plot his death and those of the other priests. Murder had always been a simple business for these cultists: a rap on the head or noose around the throat, rifle the bodies, and send them down the river to the underworld. Or else leave it to professionals overseas. Either way was eminently safe. This was different. The priests of the Temple of Apollo were persons of public importance, known locally by everybody. They would be immediately missed, even if you could kill them all quickly and dispose of the bodies down the river. It had to be planned carefully, so that no suspicion could fall on you. You had to know the schedules and routines followed by the priests, and exactly when they would be most vulnerable. There was only one way you could accomplish this: plant a spy in the temple.

“Whatever their other austerities, the priests of Apollo are no less captivated by feminine beauty than are other men. To this end you acquired the girl Hypatia, a remarkable beauty, intelligent, and a good actress. You taught and coached her carefully, then you presented her to Eugaeon at an outrageously reasonable price. Smitten, he complied at once. Once in the temple, she commenced her true duties. I suspect that you already knew all about the other tunnel, that it had no ventilation and that the priests stayed down there only a short time. Hypatia told you the days and hours during which the priests descended to their crypt, and that they stayed only a short time, during which all other persons were barred from the temple. It was perfect. The girl would simply shut the trap behind them and they would suffocate quickly because they took numerous lamps or torches with them. A day was appointed on which to carry out the deed.” I stood back and paused. Everyone was eager to hear what I had to say next.

“It would have worked, Iola, but two things happened that you could not have included in your calculations. First, a Roman praetor showed up and wanted to consult the Oracle. There was no way you could refuse. Second, when Eugaeon lost consciousness, he fell into the river and surfaced literally at our feet. Do you think it was the gods taking a hand in mortal matters to see that you suffer a horrible death in this world?”

“I never sold that girl to Eugaeon,” Iola maintained. “There cannot be a single witness to say I did!”

“Quite right,” I said to her. Then I pointed to Porcia. “You did.”

“Liar,” she said succinctly.

“One of the most gratifying things about criminal conspirators,” I said to the audience in the tones of a teacher, “is that they rarely think of the evidence they leave behind in the form of papers. The written word can condemn as efficiently as the spoken word. Witness the lapses of these murderers, who otherwise planned their actions so admirably. They killed the fence Elagabal, but did not think to take his papers. They did away with Manius Pedarius, but left his papers for his son, and consequently myself, to peruse at leisure. Here is another paper.” Again I held one aloft.

“When I questioned the girl Hypatia after the discovery of the dead priests, she said that she was sold to the temple by Aulus Plantius, a traveling slave dealer familiar to many here. When my suspicions were aroused and I began to put together my own explanation of what happened, I consulted with the distinguished historian Lucius Cordus and he generously found for me the relevant document.” I gestured to where Cordus stood in the crowd and he basked in the attention.

“This is a praetor’s office document for the sale of a slave girl named Hypatia to the Temple of Apollo. The seller is not identified as Aulus Plantius. The seller is named as Porcia, daughter of the freedman Sextus Porcius.” There were great sounds of outrage from the crowd. “Her father was indeed that same Sextus Porcius who had dealings with Elagabal. She followed her father into the business.”

At last Porcia saw the trap closing around her. “You two are guilty, and many others with you,” I told the two women. “You might as well come clean. I remind you that you stand condemned to the complete satisfaction of these people here assembled. Only the presence of these soldiers keeps them from tearing you apart right now. I may decide to withdraw that protection. Talk, and you may live to bribe your way out of this. Decide now.”

“She came to me with the proposition,” Iola said, while Porcia looked disgusted. “She showed me the tunnel from her mundus to the chamber of the shrine. She said she’d found it when she was a little girl playing in the fields.”

“And together you plotted out your future, but recently things went sour, as they usually do when too many people get involved with a criminal enterprise. It was time to eliminate most of your accomplices. You got rid of Pedarius, who was superfluous anyway. You got rid of Elagabal. There were plenty of other fences, ones who didn’t know quite so much about you. Why was Sabinilla killed?”

“Her husband,” Iola said, “the one we poisoned for her, was a partner of Sextus Porcius. She had overheard too many of his conversations with Porcius. She was stupidly extravagant and always in debt, always borrowing money from us. When you came here and she made such a point of cultivating you, we knew she would sell us out to you to escape prosecution for her involvement.”

“I see. Well, now to a relatively minor matter: the attempt on my own life. Porcia, when you were arrested, my men searched your house and among other interesting things they found this.” I gestured and Hermes handed me a very fine bow, made of layered wood and ibex horn, the sort a professional hunter would use. “You know, I had quite forgotten that, on our trip to the mundus, you had said that you enjoyed hunting. You didn’t even have to hire an assassin, did you? You shot me yourself.”

Finally, she gave up. “I hadn’t practiced in too long.”

“How did you ambush me? It was quite well done.”

“I knew you were in Pompeii. When you left the town, I was well ahead of you in a litter. My Gauls can keep pace with slow-pacing horses easily. When you stopped, I took them off the road and went back through the brush with my bow. Pity my aim was off.”