The Legatus Mystery (23 page)

Junio looked reluctant (he knew that if there was trouble I’d prefer to have him at my side) but there was no arguing with Marcus. He made off obediently in the direction of the street door, and a moment later I heard the ring of his running sandals on the paving stones.

Marcus and the high priest resumed their seats, and my patron turned to Hirsus. ‘And you,’ he barked out, ‘tell us what you know. Quickly too! Before we call on someone to help you find your tongue.’

If I had been the hapless little priest, already too petrified to speak, that extra threat would have been enough to deprive me of utterance for ever. However, he licked his lips and managed painfully, ‘In front of the altar . . . I went in . . . lying there with blood all over him . . . I . . .’

He stopped, and glanced at me again.

My patron was looking seriously displeased. ‘Go on,’ he said icily to the priest. ‘You saw the body lying there. What did you do?’

Hirsus shrugged helplessly. ‘I . . . nothing . . . Meritus and Scribonius came. I was . . . they didn’t . . . they sent me to tell you.’

The pontifex had been leaning forward intently, watching and listening to all this. A spot of colour had crept into his ashen cheeks. ‘Speak up, man!’ His rustling voice was hardly audible itself. ‘A body, do you say? Was this before or after this noise they tell me about?’

Hirsus turned to him gratefully. ‘Oh, after, after, Sacredness! That was why I went into the shrine at all. Meritus sent me in to light the censers. Scribonius said it should be done from the sacred fire – there’s been one burning on the inner altar ever since it was cleansed.’ He glanced at me. For a moment his indignation got the better of his fear. ‘After this citizen had paid his visit there, and desecrated it again,’ he finished bitterly.

Marcus glanced at me. ‘Have you anything to say to that, Libertus?’

‘I have a question, with your permission, Excellence,’ I said.

Marcus nodded though the old priest looked displeased.

I turned to Hirsus. ‘The body. Did you recognise the man?’

He made a helpless little gesture with his hands. ‘I could not see the face.’

‘So it could be the same body as before?’ Marcus had seen what I was thinking. ‘How is the dead man dressed? As a legate?’

‘Or a messenger?’ I said, and saw the high priest pale. There had been another messenger today. If it was his body lying at the shrine, then all our fears about reprisals in the city could be multiplied a hundredfold.

Marcus looked sharply at the sub-sevir. ‘Well, tell us, man. Is there a seal? A ring?’

Hirsus shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Excellence. I couldn’t see. There seemed to be a cape . . . a hood . . . pulled over him. He is just lying there. Face down. And all this blood . . .’ He broke off, shuddering.

‘You’re sure it is a man?’ I put in. It was perverse. A few moments ago, when I had expected to be sent back to that accursed shrine, I had been afraid to go: but now that Marcus had decided otherwise, I was suddenly anxious to see this for myself.

This time Hirsus answered readily enough. ‘A man? I thought it was. How could it be otherwise? There, in the inner temple? Women don’t come in. I thought at first it was a penitent, one of the supplicants who sometimes come. In fact, I almost thought . . .’ He met my eyes a moment and then quickly looked away as if I might bewitch him by my glance. ‘I’m almost sure it was a man.’

‘And he was bleeding? Did you see a knife?’

He paled again. ‘No knife. Just blood. From head to toe. He looked like . . . like . . .’ he shook his head, like a man trying to wake himself from a dreadful dream, ‘some sort of sacrifice.’

‘Did you touch the body?’

From Hirsus’s look of horror, I might as well have suggested that perhaps he could have kissed a venomous snake. ‘I did not, citizen. And if you had seen it lying there, in all that blood – after what’s been going on in the temple these few days – neither would you have done.’ He paused. ‘Anyway,’ he muttered sulkily, ‘if any other strange manifestations occurred we were to fetch the senior priests, and not to go near anything ourselves.’

‘What’s that?’ The high priest’s voice was sharp.

Hirsus repeated what he had said – a little more loudly this time. ‘On your strict instructions, Pontifex. Meritus told us yesterday.’

Marcus looked enquiringly at the high priest. ‘And is this so?’

The old man had been looking vague, but he brightened visibly. ‘Indeed, indeed, I did give the command. Dear me. A necessary precaution, we thought, Excellence. A matter for experienced celebrants. Of course, we could not guess then that a body would be found, but we thought it probable that something would occur. And I’m sure the principle was sound enough. If the gods are already angry, we decided, we should not add to it by interfering in their acts with unhallowed hands.’ He nodded his white-capped head at me.

My hands, he obviously meant, but Marcus chose to ignore the implication. He turned back to Hirsus. ‘So you found the body and went for help? Tell me, how did you come to discover it, exactly?’

‘Your pardon, Excellence, I thought you understood. We were in the robing room, preparing – there is to be a procession, as you know – when Meritus came in saying that, after that dreadful moaning sound, he wanted both the censers lit and carried with the images. Scribonius agreed. He said they should be lighted from the sacred fire, and I was supposed to be the duty priest today. So I was sent. It is beginning to get dark as you will have noticed, gentlemen, so I lit a taper from the brazier, and went over to the shrine.’ He had forgotten his nervousness by now – or rather it had made him garrulous, because he went on without a pause for breath. ‘It was very dark inside the shrine, only the light of the embers on the altar, and I didn’t notice that there was something pale glimmering at its foot. I almost fell over it. But as soon as I lifted my taper over it, I could see exactly what it was.’

He gulped again, but no one said a word. We were all imagining, too clearly, what had met his eyes.

‘Right in front of the altar, Excellences, where all the signs and omens occurred before. Stretched out full-length like a kind of sacrifice. And that bloodstain seeping over it. It was hard to believe it was a human form – just a package of something soft and warm and wet—’

‘You did touch it!’ I could not help myself. I interrupted him.

Hirsus shook his head.

‘You must have done,’ my patron said, with a triumphant look at me. ‘Otherwise how could you know that it was warm?’

Hirsus shook his head again. He looked genuinely bewildered. ‘Believe me, gentlemen, by all the gods! I would not have dared. And nor did Meritus or Scribonius when they came. We simply closed the shrine and sent for you. But . . . I don’t know. I suppose I know what blood is like – I’ve seen it shed at sacrifice often enough – and this was new blood, freshly spilt. Great Mercury!’ He swallowed hard. His pale face had taken on a greyish hue and his voice choked as though the memory had made him nauseous. ‘It glistened in the taper-light . . . bright red . . . and had a warm smell, if you understand . . .’

Strangely enough, I thought I did, though Marcus was looking dubious.

‘Excellence,’ I said urgently, ‘I think he’s telling us the truth. And if he’s right, that is significant. If that blood is warm and wet there is a chance the man is not yet dead.’

Marcus and the high priest stared at me.

Hirsus gave a little sob. ‘No man could lose that quantity of blood and live. Citizen, he was completely drenched in it.’

‘All the same,’ I said. ‘I think that we should go to the temple now. Immediately. Without waiting for the guards. Suppose it
is
the legate’s messenger? Bad enough that he should be attacked. Do you wish to have it said you left him there to bleed to death, with no one coming to his aid?’

If I had suggested that Jupiter himself was liable to descend at any moment, I could not have caused more of a sensation. Everyone leapt to their feet at once, and began their own manifestations of panic.

Aurelia started crying out aloud, ‘We shall be ruined!’ and tearing at her hair.

Her husband shuffled to the household shrine, pulled up his hood and began muttering incantations to himself – though, if he was hoping to avert evil influence, it seemed to me he’d left it rather late.

Marcus said nothing, but he had that tight-lipped look I knew. It meant that he was planning something. Usually something uncomfortable, involving me.

I was right. He tapped his baton on his thigh and gave me his most patronly smile. ‘I suppose that you are right as usual, my friend. If there is any chance of what you suggest, there’s no time to be lost. We shall simply have to brave the mob, and hope they haven’t broken through the gates. The high priest cannot go, of course, in case the man is dead and he finds himself looking on a corpse. Nor me, for the moment, I’m afraid. I must consult with him and plan what can be done. We can hardly go ahead with the procession if there is a body in the shrine. You go with Hirsus and assess the situation. I will have the slaves bring torches, and I won’t be far behind.’

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. When I had urged this I had envisaged a large party, with plenty of illumination and a dozen slaves. I’d never thought of going back there alone.

Bad enough that the mob was after me, but to walk through the temple precinct in the dark! A temple where strange happenings had occurred for days. All those shadowy statues and stone gods. Bloodstained altars and a chilling shrine where, at best, a bloodstained horror awaited me! At worst – I didn’t dare to think of it. Compared to this, being a self-flagellant in a procession seemed almost desirable.

Hirsus seemed no more keen than I was. ‘Excellence,’ he wailed. ‘I’m sure the man was dead. And how could it be a messenger? The temple grounds have been sealed off all day. Besides, if Libertus is ill-omened and we take him to the shrine . . . Forgive me . . . Oh, blessed Mercury, we shall all be doomed!’

But it was too late. Marcus frowned, and tapped his baton on his palm impatiently. ‘You heard me, sub-sevir.’

I had brought this on myself. Marcus had given his command, and there was no help for it.

Which is how I came to find myself walking alone with Hirsus, through the inner gate into the darkness of the temple grounds.

It was getting seriously dark by now. Dark clouds had blocked out whatever stars there were and the feeble light of the taper we were carrying only served to make our surroundings seem more mysterious. Also there was suddenly a damp chill in the air. I am a rational man – or try to be – but even to me the graven faces of the gods appeared to stir as our moving torch-flame flickered across them, and a hundred expressionless stone eyes seemed to be silently following our every move.

Beside me, Hirsus was panting with terror. I could see him fingering his amulet.

I could feel my own pulse racing. From somewhere beyond the temple there came a faint, persistent roar. Too far away to be distinct, but rising and falling like the sea, with sometimes a high shout, louder than the rest. The crowd. I have heard them like this at the arena, shouting ‘Kill the netman! Death to the trident-bearer!’ I did not need to hear what they were chorusing tonight. I knew.

Ours was not the only light in the precinct, however. In the distance we could dimly see the shadowy silhouettes of slaves, coming and going beside the outbuilding, with lamps or burning torches in their hands. Further off, half shrouded by the grove, we could see the dull red light of an altar fire. A group of dark figures could be seen, and behind them the columns of the Imperial temple gleamed menacingly in the glow.

Hirsus, who had not addressed a single word to me, gestured towards all this with his hand. He was clearly too petrified to speak. It must be my presence, I thought suddenly, rather than his surroundings, which terrified him so. He must after all have crossed this courtyard a hundred times, and the shadows of the temple were his second home. I knew from Scribonius that the duty priest sometimes kept watch all night. Yet he was genuinely terrified. He really feared that I was cursed.

I turned towards him, intending to say something reassuring, but he drew back with such a sharp gasp of alarm that I thought better of it, and simply allowed him to guide me to the shrine.

Meritus was there, with Scribonius, and a whole team of temple slaves with lighted brands. They were ranged around the outer altar once again, and from the mingled smell of burning feathers, blood and fur, it was clear that they were offering continuous sacrifice.

Meritus looked up at our approach – or rather, looked towards us. In this intermittent light he looked bigger and more powerful than ever, as if one of the stone statues had climbed down from its plinth. He did not hurry, but completed the sprinkling of oils that he was engaged in, so that the altar flame leapt up and the sharp smell of frankincense mingled with the other odours on the air. Only then did he pull back his hood and come slowly towards us, moving with that dignified calm which gave him such solemnity.

‘You have come back, citizen,’ he said. ‘I had feared, with the crowds . . .’ He smiled, but even in the torchlight I could see the tension in his face. ‘I am glad to see you safe. You have heard of the latest dreadful discovery to afflict us here?’

I nodded. ‘I was in the pontifex’s house. Hirsus and my slave brought word. A bloodstained body, I believe.’

Scribonius had finished muttering at the shrine, and joined us in time to hear my words. ‘Blood-soaked would be a truer description!’ he said, with feeling. ‘I have slit a sheep’s neck for a sacrifice and seen less blood than that.’

‘Or a man flayed.’ Meritus nodded sombrely. ‘I’m afraid that’s true.’

‘It’s fresh blood, I understand?’ I said. ‘Marcus believes that this may be the legate’s messenger. If so this could be very serious for us all. And if he is still bleeding, the man may not be dead.’

‘Of course!’ the sevir said. He looked surprised. ‘Why did that not occur to me? I’m sorry, citizen, I ordered that the shrine be sealed. I suppose, after the last time, I assumed the worst.’ Another strained smile. ‘I shall have to send Hirsus for the key. I wanted to contain the evil, as it were, keep it away . . . And, if I am honest, to make sure that the body could not disappear again – by mortal means, at least.’