John Roberts: Oracle of the Dead

“Why, yes, many of us own such properties.”

“And taverns, eating establishments, and other businesses catering to the transient trade?” I inquired.

“Yes, Praetor. This matter could be very bad for us.”

“I dare say. Well, my friends, I have a feeling that, all too soon, this little matter of a murdered priest may be remembered fondly as a mere diversion in the good times.”

“Ah, Praetor,” Petillius said, shaking his head ruefully, “there is nothing that such men as we can do about the rivalries of great men. We can only hope that our homes will be treated gently in the strife to come. That is for the future. This, however, is immediate. Something must be done.” He was, of course, a practical man, as were they all. The looming catastrophe that seemed so imminent to me, and so potentially fatal for myself and my family, was to these men a remote matter, and no more controllable than storms and earthquakes and other forces of nature, such as that volcano smoking so ominously nearby.

“And something shall be done,” I assured him, as I had been assuring everybody lately. “Being done right now, in fact. My men are searching and questioning all over the district. The killer or killers will turn up soon. I expect cooperation from you as well. You locals are the most likely to spot these fleeing priests and I want them reported instantly should they be seen. I will deal very harshly with anyone who seeks to conceal them or hide any evidence from me.”

“Of course you shall have our fullest cooperation, Praetor. Nobody wants these murderers found more sincerely than we.”

“See that it is so.” This another group went off, not truly happy. I wasn’t pleasing anyone much that day.

It is in times like this, when some shocking event shatters the customary calm of a district, that the true nature of men’s relations with one another come out. The peace between rival groups begins to crack like poor stucco, revealing the rotten timbers beneath. Old grudges, thought to be forgotten, come suddenly to mind. Trivial or even imaginary slights and insults loom large, and thoughts of revenge and retribution prey upon men’s minds. Add to that the general tension caused by impending war in Italy, and we had the makings of a full-scale civil brawl on our hands, and all of it set in motion by a death that, however bizarre, had not even been proven to be murder.

I gestured for Hermes to come to me. “Hermes, are you sober enough to do a little more snooping?”

“Are you implying that I am drunk?” he said, swaying slightly.

“Nothing of the sort. Just curtail your intake for a while. We need to know something more. I know that Pompey is powerful here in Campania. He settled many of his veterans here. See what the locals feel about Caesar, and how the lines are drawn hereabouts.”

He went off to snoop and doubtless drink some more. The settlement of the Campanian lands had been a thorny one, much disputed in the Senate and fought over for years. Pompey had wanted the land to settle his veterans, who had served for many years and needed farms to retire to. His enemies in the Senate fought this, both because they wanted the land for themselves and because they knew it would give Pompey a strong power base near to Rome. Back then Pompey and Caesar had been friends, Pompey was married to Caesar’s daughter, and Caesar had worked hard to get Pompey the land settlement. In time he had succeeded, and now the countryside was full of Pompey’s veterans, each man with his arms hung above the hearth, ready to flock to the eagles at Pompey’s summons.

Technically, the struggle was between Caesar and the Senate, but here in Campania the Senate counted for little. Here the lines were drawn between the supporters of the great men of the day, and none were greater that year than Caesar and Pompey. In this territory, barely two generations under Roman control, all such loyalties were mutable. Eventually, Hermes returned.

“There aren’t very many of Pompey’s men in the immediate vicinity. Most of them settled to the north of here. The few I found to talk to don’t seem to care much about Apollo or Hecate.”

“That’s something of a relief. One more faction in this business would have been one too many.”

The presence of all those Pompeians had been a disturbing factor in my otherwise pleasant stay in Campania. Pompey had assured that, should Caesar prove recalcitrant, he could stamp his foot and raise an army. There were those in the Senate, chiefly of the most extreme aristocratic faction, urging him to stamp that foot. The rest of the Senate was more wary, feeling that they could negotiate with Caesar, but the times were bad ones for moderates and fence-sitters. We were drifting into another age of warlords. Sad to say, the Roman soldiers of that day felt their strongest allegiance to their generals, not to Rome. For a general who consistently led them to victory and loot, they would do almost anything.

Pompey’s veterans were such men, but I did not fancy their chances against Caesar’s troops, who had been fighting hard in Gaul for years. Pompey’s veterans were getting old and were long out of practice.

“There are those two legions training up near Capua,” I mused.

“What have they to do with this murdered priest and the troubles here in the south?” Hermes wanted to know.

“Eh? Oh, nothing. The thought of Pompey’s veterans set me thinking about the disposition of our soldiers and which way they might go if it comes to a break between Caesar and the Senate.”

“They’re new troops training for a war in Syria,” Hermes said. “They have no set loyalties and I suspect they’ll follow whoever the Senate sends to take charge of them. I don’t think they’ll be much threat to Caesar.” We had both spent a lot of time with Caesar’s army in Gaul, and knew all too well what a savage lot they were. Caesar had been leading them for eight years and they were his, body and soul. He had become their patron and they were his clientela .

As the day’s business was about to end, Julia came to report her findings. “I’ve spent all day with Iola and the rest of the Oracle’s staff.”

“I don’t suppose they confessed to complicity?”

“Not likely.”

“Pity. It would make things so much easier.”

“If only life were as simple as you wish it. No, but I have been learning a great deal about the Hecate cult, about its origins and history. It is quite fascinating.”

“I am sure. Anything about murderous enmity between the cultists and the priests of Apollo overhead?”

She sighed. “You are so single-minded when you are on an investigation, Decius. I wish you would give some time to culture and study.”

“All in good time, my dear. When I retire, I plan to write many long, boring books, perhaps even look into this philosophy business. Brutus and Cicero and some others of my acquaintance seem to set great store by it.”

“By the way, we are invited to dinner at the house of Marcus Duronius.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I’ve heard that he sets a splendid table.”

She poked my expanding waistline. Rather harder than necessary, in fact. “You should spend less time at the table and more in the gymnasium. This easy life is softening you.”

“The demands of office do not permit me much time for the gymnasium,” I told her. The derisive snort she made was quite expressive.

“I’m off to confer with some of the other priestesses nearby. I’ll meet you at the Villa of Duronius at dinnertime. Do try to show up sober.”

Sometimes I didn’t think that Julia trusted me. And I knew why she was suddenly concerned with my physical fitness. She expected me to spring to arms at Caesar’s call and join his army. Well, I had already been in Caesar’s army and wanted nothing to do with it. She thought Pompey was a prize villain and that the Senate was doing Uncle Caius Julius insufficient honor. Personally, I couldn’t see a fig’s worth of difference between Caesar and Pompey, and the Senate had already voted Caesar more honors than he’d earned. If he’d been denied a few of his demands, that was just the rough-and-tumble of Roman politics as they were in those days.