John Roberts - Oracle of the Dead

“Pity, indeed. And no wonder we didn’t find you when you tried again and killed Sabinilla. My men were searching the countryside all around, but you arrived by way of your tunnel, where we had thoughtfully made you a door to the temple grounds, and you returned the same way. The dogs couldn’t track you because your scent was all over the place, so often did you visit.”

Porcia shook her head. “That stupid bitch.” I knew she wasn’t referring to Iola.

“Yes, I was about to ask about that. Why did poor Hypatia reveal to us where the bodies were hidden?”

“The little slut went and got herself pregnant by one of the younger priests,” Porcia said. “It meant nothing to me. All the priests had to die. But she felt”-she searched, as if for an unfamiliar word-“she felt guilty or something. She thought if she showed you where the bodies were, she might get off if the whole story should come out. Another night, and we’d have gotten them disposed of, down the river. We never thought you’d set up your court right here and move in. It made things awkward.”

“So you sent word to her to come join you in the stables, that you’d take her to safety. Then you stabbed her just as you stabbed Elagabal. I have to hand it to you, Porcia, you don’t delegate the dirty work.”

“Like you said, Praetor, it’s not a good idea to have too many people in on an extralegal operation.”

“So it is.” I drew myself up and faced the crowd. “For crimes of multiple murder too numerous to enumerate and, I might add, including poisoning which carries extra penalties, I condemn all these people to death. I’ll think up some really nasty way to do it.”

The crowd was stunned by my abruptness. They had expected a summation, a great speech, something they could repeat in the bars, but some of the more legal-minded detected certain flaws in my actions.

“Praetor,” said a duumvir of Cumae, “while there can be no doubt that these vile creatures deserve the worst of punishments, you are still not authorized to carry out summary executions. There has been no true trial by a jury, no arguments, only the results of your own investigation, which all here must agree has been superlative. We must observe the legalities.”

“We must?” I said. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I’m done here. You can all go home.” I looked at the accused. “You’re dismissed. It looks like I can’t have you executed after all.”

“Praetor!” Iola said, looking around with bugged-out eyes at the surrounding crowd. “They will rip us apart!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. “What’s about to happen will be the most celebrated trial in Italy. Whoever prosecutes you will be famous. His legal reputation will be made. He can move to Rome and maybe win a seat in the Senate.” I pitched my words so that all could hear and already I could see the lawyers and politicians cutting deals.

“People of Campania,” I cried, “I have truly enjoyed my stay here and I hope to see you all again someday. Now, I’m off for Sicily!”

Of course, everyone knows what happened in the next years. Caesar crossed the Rubicon and the war came. Pompey perished miserably in Egypt and Cato died nobly in Utica. I tried to keep my head down and attached to my shoulders. My Julia died many years ago. Every December I sacrifice to her shade, hoping it brings her some comfort. I will know soon enough.

These things happened in Campania in the year 704 of the City of Rome, in the consulship of Lucius Aemilius Lepidus Paullus and Caius Claudius Marcellus. We did not know it then, but it was the last year of the true Republic.