“For one thing,” I said, “the identity of the person who killed her, who is probably also the one who suborned her into her part in the murder. It seems to have been someone she trusted.”
“A lover, perhaps?” Julia said. “After all, she was pregnant.” This was news to our guests, and Julia explained.
“This adds another dimension,” Gitiadas said. “Now there is scope for jealousy, love, treachery, betrayal, and a host of other motives. You should have invited the playwright. I’m sure he is far better regarding matters of the heart than dusty philosophers and historians.”
“Just more complication,” I groused. “As if this matter didn’t have enough of that already.”
6
THE NEXT DAY I TOOK MY PERAMBUlating court to Stabiae. It is another of those charming towns on the bay, blessed with a wonderful climate and views fit for the enjoyment of the gods. For part of the way the road took us along the top of a precipitous cliff, causing the ladies of the party (yes, the ladies were along again) to cry out with fright and pretend to faint. We men just looked Stoic.
The town was founded by Oscans, but about forty years before this time they had chosen the wrong side in the Social War and had risen in rebellion against Rome, a famously bad decision for any town to make but especially foolhardy for a tiny resort like Stabiae. As a result, it was destroyed by Sulla and the site was given to the Nocerians, who had remained loyal. They had resettled and rebuilt the city, and now it was once again a favorite resort, with the town plan centered on its medicinal springs instead of the usual forum or temple complex.
As we neared the city, our party was joined by an ornate litter carried by a set of Gauls who wore the twisted neck rings common to that race, their blond hair and mustaches dressed identically. As it drew alongside my saddle, a hand with gilded nails pushed its curtain aside. “Praetor! You should have told me you would be visiting my city.” It was Sabinilla. This time she wore a red wig, to complement her green gown.
“I knew you would insist that I stay at your home, and I have no wish to impose a party this size upon you when there is a perfectly good official residence available in the town.”
“Nonsense! I do insist you stay with me! I’m sure I am not so poor that I can’t afford to entertain a praetor’s entourage properly. I shall be insulted if you refuse.”
“In that case, how can I say no? Give my freedman directions to your home and I will join you there as soon as I conclude my business for the day.” She was overjoyed, or put on a good show of it. I had indeed not let her know I was going to Stabiae for precisely this reason. I knew that she would try to outdo everyone else who had entertained me in the lavishness of her hospitality. At another time this would have suited me perfectly, but now my pleasant stay in Campania had turned serious, and I wanted no more distraction. I told Hermes to get the party settled at Sabinilla’s villa while I went to confer with the city officials.
“Cheer up,” he advised me. “There are worse fates than being entertained to death.”
With a few of my helpers and preceded by my six lictors I rode on into the beautiful city, where I was greeted with the usual choruses of children and girls in white gowns who strewed flower petals in my path and local poets who read panegyrics composed in my honor. At least, I think they were panegyrics. I’ve never been too clear on the distinction between a panegyric and an ode. Oh well, as long as it’s not a eulogy, I’ve no cause to complain.
The city offices were in the Temple of Poseidon, which was Stabiae’s finest. The town is located on the sea, so the sea god is naturally held in great reverence there. Also, the region is very prone to earthquakes and Poseidon is the god of earthquakes. Furthermore the locals revere Poseidon as the patron of their hot springs, so he is held in triple reverence.
Of course I was taken in to see the statue of the god, a stunning bronze by the sculptor Eteocles, only a bit larger than life-size, and in an unusual pose: standing, his left arm thrust forward in the fashion of a javelin thrower, right extended rearward, balancing the trident as if for a cast. His hair and beard were enameled blue, a treatment I had never seen before on a statue, paint being more commonly used. His eyes and teeth were likewise enameled, rather than the more common ivory and silver treatment. Everything about the image was exquisite, and I was not sparing in my praise. The trip would have been worth it just to see the statue.
We retired to an office and took care of the modalities: the location for the morning’s court, the officials to be present, and the order of hearing the cases to be presented.
“Will there be any special complications in any of these cases?” I asked. “Right now, I am in no mood for unpleasant surprises.”
“All very straightforward, Praetor,” said the town’s own praetor, an official lacking the imperium and broad powers of a praetor from Rome. Since the locals had full citizenship, his judgments could be appealed to a Roman court. This was usually an unwise move, since Roman magistrates hated to have their dockets cluttered with the petty complaints of provincials. Only someone able to pay a hefty bribe dared try it.
With these petty matters settled, I decided to wander about and see the town. I dismissed my lictors, telling them I would meet them at Sabinilla’s villa. They protested, saying it was unworthy of a praetor to walk abroad without an escort. I told them I had imperium and could do anything I wanted to. I exchanged my toga praetexta with its purple border for a plain white one and bid them be off.
I was utterly tired of having an entourage dog my steps every waking minute. I pined for the days when I was an anonymous citizen recognized by few people and could prowl about and get into trouble as I wished. It was the sort of juvenile thinking for which Julia was forever scolding me. But she was right. We men only learn to fake maturity and wisdom. Inside, we are perpetual adolescents, heedless and foolhardy. Well, what of it? That was the way I liked it.
Not that I was totally unwary, of course. I had my dagger and caestus tucked away in their usual place inside my tunic. To tell the truth, I was half-hoping to get into a brawl. I hadn’t been in a good fight for several months, and felt that I was losing my edge. Not a serious brawl, of course, just a little fist-swinging and bench-throwing to get the blood stirring.
Unfortunately, Stabiae turned out to be a quiet, peaceful town, full of wealthy visitors come to take the cure in the hot springs and vendors to see to their wants and relieve them of excess money. I went into some low sailors’ dives, but there was nothing to be had except bad wine. The sailors drank and rolled dice and exchanged the names of especially skilled whores, but that was all. After a while I left the dockside area and went back into the city proper.
I was about to give up and go to Sabinilla’s place when I heard someone hissing at me, and saw a hand beckoning me toward a doorway. I was passing through a street not much wider than a typical alley, one which I hoped would lead to the forum, where I could get my bearings and find the landward gate. The hand was white and fairly shapely, adorned with a number of rings, though none of them looked terribly expensive. I assumed that it was a whore in search of a customer, but as I drew near the door, the woman thrust her head outside. She wore a shawl over hair that fell straight to her shoulders, a fashion not much in favor with prostitutes, nor was her dress, which was typical of any matron’s.
She looked quickly up and down the alley, then she said, “Aren’t you the Roman praetor? The one who’s investigating those killings at the temple?” She spoke barely above a whisper and seemed agitated, clearly in a state of fear.
“I am.”
She reached out and took me by the arm. “Come inside, quick!”
My hand went inside my tunic as I stepped across the threshold. I’d scarcely been in town long enough for anyone to set up an ambush, but you never know. As soon as I was inside, she scanned the alley again and shut the door. The room was illuminated dimly by some clay lamps, but I was all but blind coming in from the bright daylight outside. Slowly my eyes adjus
ted and I saw that this was the dwelling of an ordinary citizen, neither wealthy nor especially poor; a typical shopkeeper’s house.
“Your business had better be urgent,” I told her, “and it had better not be about any of the cases to come before me. I take it ill when people believe that I may be suborned.”
“Oh no!” she said. “Nothing like that. It’s about the killings.”
“What is your name?” Her face twitched as I jerked her from whatever terror held her to something mundane. I have found it a useful interrogation technique many times: If you destroy a person’s concentration on what they are trying to tell you, sometimes they reveal things they’d rather not.
“My name? Why, it’s, it’s Floria, Praetor.”
I knew instantly that the name was false. She’d taken too long to make one up, but informants often don’t want their names known. It didn’t mean that her information was bad, just that I would have to be suspicious. As if I wasn’t already. People lie more often than they tell the truth, even if they have nothing to gain by it. They lie to officials even more often.
“Well, Floria, you should know that I have taken a very personal interest in the doings at that temple—those temples, I should say—and I wish very much to have some reliable information. On the other hand, I will punish very severely anyone who tries to give me false information. Is that understood?”
“Certainly, Praetor!” she said, looking even more scared. “I would never—” My raised hand silenced her.
“Yes you would. I just want you to know that it would be a terribly bad idea. Now, tell me what you have for me.” My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and now I could see that she was a handsome woman of perhaps thirty years, with broad cheekbones and huge eyes, a look common to southern Italy.
“I know things about the priests of that temple, Praetor.”
“You mean the Temple of Apollo?”
“No, the Oracle of Hecate.”
I thought this odd, because she had said “priests” when it seemed the staff of the Oracle was dominated by women. But I let it pass. “Go on.”
“Well, sir, ten years ago I was in service to the house of Lucius Terentius. He was an oil importer of this city. He died childless and freed me, along with the other household slaves, in his will. This was the year that he died. I blame those priests for that.” She paused, seeming intimidated by the seriousness of her accusation.
“You believe the devotees of Hecate killed your former master?”
“Not directly, no, but they—”
“Just go on. Tell your story, and don’t worry about reprisal. I will put you under my own protection, if you wish.” I was remembering the girl, Hypatia.
“Oh no. I wouldn’t want that. I don’t want anybody but you to know what I’m telling you. Anyway, my master was preparing to make a voyage to visit his oil suppliers in Greece and in the islands: Crete, Cyprus, and one or two others. He imported the highest quality oils, the kind used for bathing and for perfumery. Every year he would make a voyage in the spring, to go over his factors’ accounts and bid on new contracts. He said the competition for the best pressings was pretty fierce, and you had to be there at the right time with the money. He wouldn’t leave that sort of thing to a factor.
“Every year, he would go to the Oracle of Hecate to ask if he would have a safe and profitable voyage. It seems every year he got a favorable prophecy, and since he’d always done well, he set great store by the Oracle. This year was a little different. I went with him, along with some of the other slaves. I’d accompanied him twice before. He was an important man and wouldn’t go unaccompanied on an occasion like that. The priests put him through the usual ceremony, with the drinks and the sprinkling and so forth. We slaves stood off to one side, along with the servants of the other people visiting the Oracle. We waited in a little grove of trees while our masters visited the underworld. It was a hot day, and this time some of the temple slaves brought us cool drinks while we waited. This seemed very thoughtful. One of them was a girl, perhaps a year or two older than me. She was very lively and talkative, and she went on about this and that, and she asked me about myself, and about my master, and what he did. I told her pretty much what I’ve told you about him, only at greater length. In time my master came out of the cave looking very thoughtful. Seems the Oracle priests had told him to come back the next day, that the will of the gods was unclear.”
“Just him?” I asked. “Did none of the other petitioners get the same message?”
She frowned. “That I could not tell you. Anyway, we did not come all the way back here. We stayed overnight at the home of one of his friends near the temples. Next morning we went back and he went through the same ceremony. We waited in the grove as before, only this time there were no cool drinks. I didn’t see any of the temple slaves except for the ones who assisted at the ceremony. In time my master returned and this time he was elated. It seems he got a really favorable prophecy from the Oracle. He was practically singing all the way home, and as soon as we got there, he sent for his banker.
“I heard later from the steward that our master went into the shrine of Hecate and was told there that his luck would be tremendous on this voyage, and that great opportunities awaited, and he should be prepared. He figured that meant that some prize contracts were going to be up for bidding, so he took along far more cash than he usually carried. The steward said it was five times as much.”
“I see. And what was the outcome of this voyage?”
“The first leg took him to Piraeus. That was where he usually took ship for the islands. When there was no word from him in over a month, his business manager here started an investigation. He sent a couple of the freedmen to Piraeus to ask questions and follow the master’s trail. They were back in no time. He’d stayed just one night at the inn where he usually stayed. He went down to the harbor to find a ship headed for Delos. The harbormaster said he saw him get onto a small ship that had just arrived from Italy. It cast off right away, like he was the only thing they were waiting for, though they hadn’t discharged or taken on any cargo since docking. Nothing has been heard of him since. After a year passed, the will was read and I was a free woman.”
“And you suspect the Oracle staff was behind the disappearance of your master?”
“Sir, he was set up! They as much as told him to take along plenty of extra cash this trip. And I never heard of an oracle saying anything outright like that. Worst thing is, I helped them do it.” Apparently she had been fond of her master. We always want to believe that our slaves love us, but this is seldom the case.
“You are blameless. How could you suspect that an idle conversation would lead to your master being waylaid by robbers? You divulged no secrets. No court would hold you accountable.”
“I still feel terrible about it.”
“You needn’t. Now, Floria, you must tell me something else.”
“I’ve already told you what I know.”
“For that I am quite grateful. You have been a great help to my investigation. But when you called me in here, you were very apprehensive. Frightened, in fact. Why?”
She was quiet for a moment, her arms crossed before her as if she were cold on this warm afternoon. “Word has been going around, Praetor. Nothing open, but when I go to the market or down to the corner fountain for water and some gossip, I keep hearing the same thing: It’s going to be bad for anyone who helps this Roman praetor in the matter of the temples and the killings. It’s something everybody just seems to know: This is a local matter, no need to get Rome involved. Keep quiet if you know anything, or it’ll be the worse for you.”
“I wish you would let me place you under my protection.”
“In a few days, this matter will be over one way or another and you’ll be gone, Praetor. But I’ll have to live here the rest of my life. I don’t know any other place and I don’t want to start over somewhere like Rome.”
“Very well, but if you feel in any way threatened, c
ome to me instantly.”
“I will, Praetor, and now I think you should go.” She went to the door and opened it just enough to stick her head out. She scanned the alley both ways, then motioned for me to go. I stepped outside, hand on dagger again, but the alley was deserted.
As I made my interrupted way toward the city gate and my waiting horse, I thought about what I had just heard. Of course, my first thoughts were of how I might have been tricked and gulled. Was she a plant? It was known that I would be in Stabiae that day, but nobody could have known that I would on a whim choose to wander about the city alone. I had chosen that particular alley because I did not know the town and it seemed as good a way as any to find the forum and thence the gate. Try as I might, I couldn’t see how she could have been planted in my path.
As for the rest, it sounded plausible enough. It hardly seemed shocking that a foreign cult was acting as a cover for a robbery ring, though ten years at the minimum seemed a long time for it to stay under wraps. Of course, the late Lucius Terentius had been neatly disposed of in a manner that would not have cast suspicion on the Oracle. People are lost at sea every year, hundreds of them even in a year of good sailing weather. Also, they need not fleece all of their customers, just the ones who present a prospect of high profit and safe disposal somewhere far away.
Still, this said nothing about the murder of the priests of Apollo. I could not tie them to a ten-year-old murder, and the circumstances of their deaths had no apparent connection with the fraud, larceny, and murder perpetrated by the Oracle below them. There was always the possibility that the woman had some other motive entirely. Perhaps she had some personal grudge against the cult of Hecate and merely wished to blacken them in my eyes, not that I required much in that direction.
At the public stable by the gate, I retrieved my horse and mounted. The guard at the gate gave me directions to the villa where Sabinilla lived. The ride was pleasant and nothing occurred to disturb my fruitless cogitations. A fine, paved road turned off the main road, leading to the villa. It was situated on a cliff-lined spit of land jutting into the sea, with breathtaking views in all directions. I could hardly have imagined a more dramatic setting. The main house occupied the very tip of the spit, so that a suicidally inclined occupant could simply dive off a back terrace to end all his problems. There were times when that extreme act seemed attractive to me. As I had feared, Julia was waiting for me at the top of the steps leading to the house.
SPQR XII: Oracle of the Dead Page 10
