Lindsey Davis - See Delphi And Die

'So would I. I had given up and agreed to use Greek. There was grit in my throat.' I mean, I would prefer that young females from Rome should stop dropping dead at your sanctuary.'

He gave me the chin-up look with his tufty beard again, as if he were an Olympic judge on one of Pa's red-figure vases. If he had had a judge's long stick in his hand, he would have jabbed me with it.

'Are you responsible, Lacheses, for clearing the site where the party had pitched camp?' He looked indignant; I just managed to restrain myself from grabbing him by the priestly robes and squeezing his windpipe until he wet himself. 'Settle down. I realise the ground had been polluted.' I bet nobody had ever said the far more polluted palaestra porch and skamma needed to be kept out of bounds to members until they had been sprinkled with holy water and an olive branch. Nothing would interfere with sport.'Were any clues found at the campsite?'

'Nothing significant.'

'What was learned about the young woman?'

'She had quarrelled with her husband.'

It was the first I had heard of it, though I was not surprised. 'That's definite?

'Several of her companions had heard them. He did not deny it.'

'What were they fighting about?'

The priest looked astonished. 'I have no idea.'

'Nice respect for the confidences of the marriage bed! Don't you think it might be relevant? Might this quarrel not explain why, if he did kill her, the husband was moved to do it?'

'Nobody is accusing the husband,' the priest assured me suddenly. He had smelt the danger of a libel or maladministration charge. 'Everything was investigated. Nothing pointed to any particular suspect. There are people coming and going all the time at Olympia. It was obvious that the killer was probably a stranger, and that in the melee after the death was discovered, he must have slipped away.'

'Visitors to the shrine were allowed to disperse?'

'Oh, we could not possibly.. '

'Forget it! No one expects you to corral your pilgrims, just for one little dead Roman girl. Are you expecting this happy killer back on your patch next Olympics?

'That is in the hands of the gods.'

I lost my temper. 'Unfortunately we live in modern times. I am starting to think, Lacheses, that my role will be calling the gods to account. You have just under a year before your sanctuary is flooded with people – my advice is, use that time to catch this man.'

The priest raised his eyebrows, appalled at my attitude. 'Have you finished, Falco?'

'No. What about the other girl? What about Marcella Caesia, whose father found her bones on the Hill of Cronus, a year after she had disappeared?'

He sighed. 'Another regrettable incident.'

'And how was that investigated?'

'Before my time, I fear.'

'Fear is the right emotion,' I warned him. 'These deaths are about to fly right in your face, like evils whizzing out of Pandora's jar.' I resorted to fable for my own satisfaction; like my anger, it was lost on Lacheses. 'If I find out that anybody in this retreat or the overblown sports hall attached to it had a hand in Marcella Caesia's death or that of Valeria Ventidia, holy retribution will be spreading like plague here – and anyone who has fobbed me off will be the first to answer!'

I sensed that the priest was about to call for guards, so I spun around and left.

Was it not Hope that remained in the jar after Pandora meddled? Not that I had much hope in this case.

The harassing morning had brought me one advance. I now knew first hand why Caesius Secundus felt he was given the run-around. I could see why he became frustrated and obsessed. I could even understand why the Tullius family had limply given up and got on with their lives. Bitterness and anger rose in my mouth like bile.

I strode across the Altis, heading for the south-east corner where at the back of Nero's half-finished villa there was an exit through the boundary wall. Halfway there I passed a decrepit wooden pillar. In its slight shade I came across my group: the tall, white-clad figure of Helena Justina; Albia, slightly shorter and livelier; chunky Cornelius; Gaius, scowling as usual as he plotted revenge on society for imagined slights. I did my duty and snarled a greeting.

'Marcus, my darling! We have been having a tourist morning. We fixed up a special 'Pelops' circuit for ourselves.'

I was in no mood for happy tourism, and said so. Helena still looked pale, and moved sluggishly. 'I thought you were back at the room, doubled up, 'I accused her.

She pulled a face. 'Too much oil in the doorman's sister's oregano and lamb hotpot, maybe. Now look – My brother's letter said Valeria and the other women were taken on a circuit of Pelops memorabilia, the day Valeria died.'

I groaned at the thought, but I gave in. Helena made everyone sit on the ground in a circle, in the shade of a couple of palm trees.

'This is the last pillar from the Palace of Oenomaus.' She pointed to the misshapen wooden shard where I had found them. 'You will be disappointed to notice that none of the suitors' severed heads has lasted.' Even the pillar had hardly lasted. It was silvered and rotting away. It reminded me of a balcony when I lived in Fountain Court; I had prodded the wood, and my fist went right through the supporting beam.

'At least its poor condition has saved it from having 'Titus was here' carved all over it by visiting Romans.' Gaius and Cornelius immediately sauntered over to the pillar, in case after all there was a sound spot they could desecrate.

Pulling me round to face to the west, Helena directed my attention to a walled enclosure. 'Cornelius, come back here and tell Uncle Marcus what we learned about that ancient monument.'

Cornelius looked scared. My sister Allia was an easygoing lump who never quizzed him on lessons. He had been to school. Ma paid for it. She had wasted her money; Cornelius could hardly write his name. Still, Helena had been ramming facts into him. 'It's the burial mound of Pelops,' Cornelius recited. 'It is called the Pelopion.'

'Good boy! The mound must be a tomb only, Marcus, for we have seen the bronze chest that contains his mighty bones. All except what, Gaius?'

Gaius smirked at Cornelius, knowing he had got the easy question. 'Shoulder blade! Gigantic. Made of ivory.'

'Correct. Albia, how did that come about?'

Albia grimaced. 'This story is disgusting. You will like it, Marcus Didius.'

'Oh thanks!'

'Pelops is the son of Tantalus, who was a son of Zeus, though not a god, only a king. Tantalus invited all the gods from Mount Olympus to a party on a mountain top.'

'He wanted to test if the gods were really all-knowing,' Helena helped out.

'Everyone brought food for a lucky-dip picnic. The gods put nectar and ambrosia in their hampers. Tantalus served up a stew, to see if they would realise what they were eating.'

'What was it? The doorman's sister's oregano hotpot?' I asked.

'Ugh. Worse. Tantalus had killed and cooked up his own son, Pelops! The gods did notice – but not before Demeter the Harvest Queen had eaten her way all through a shoulder bone.'

'She was grieving for her daughter, and rather absent-minded.' A faraway look came over Helena, and I knew she was thinking of Julia and Favonia. 'Then?'

'Then Rhea chucked all the bones back in the pot, gave it a big stir, and reassembled little Pelops, giving him a new shoulder made of ivory.'

'Which you have seen? Don't you believe it!' I scoffed. They glowered at me, wanting to believe the myth.

'Tantalus was horribly punished!' Cornelius had become keen on divine retribution. 'He must stay in Hades for ever, staring at a plate of food and a cup of drink, which he can never reach.'

'That wouldn't suit you, Cornelius.'