‘There doesn’t seem to be a lot happening,’ Vespasian said, suppressing a yawn.
‘That’s because the Hero speaks to the supplicants in their dreams,’ Rhaskos replied. ‘You make your sacrifice of a ram, ask your questions of the priests and then you go to sleep on the ram’s fleece and wait for the reply.’
‘You mean to say that the priests do nothing,’ Sabinus scoffed.
‘They’re the conduit, they eat a part of the sacrifice and in doing so they transmit the question or request for healing through to the Hero.’
‘Oh, so they do do something, they eat mutton all day.’ Sabinus laughed. ‘Nice work if you can get it.’
Rhaskos scowled at Sabinus. ‘This is a very old and sacred place; you didn’t have to come but now that you’re here, respect other people’s beliefs. Now I’m going to buy a ram and make the sacrifice; you can join me if you wish.’
The ram was, of course, hideously over-priced, the shepherd being well aware that he could charge what he wanted to supplicants who had made the mistake of arriving without their own. After much haggling and a few barely veiled threats from Magnus concerning the shepherd’s well-being after dark, they made the purchase and entered the temple.
A huge, marble statue of Amphiaraos, reaching almost to the ceiling, dominated the cool interior. Seven flaming sconces were set in a line along its base; beneath each one sat a well-fed priest. In front of the statue stood a hearth filled with red-hot charcoal covered by a grill; next to it was a blood-stained altar upon which lay a knife. Hanging on all the walls were innumerable fleeces from past sacrifices.
‘Come forward, supplicants,’ the oldest priest said, rising from the central chair as they entered. ‘My name is Antenor, chief priest of Amphiaraos. What is yours?’
Rhaskos led the ram to the altar and bowed his head. ‘Rhaskos.’
‘Tell us, Rhaskos, what you wish to know of Amphiaraos and what healing you require of him.’
‘I have had a curse put upon my ship in the name of Zbelthurdos. I wish to know how to preserve my crew so that we may complete our voyage and I look for healing for my galley slaves who suffer from fever.’
‘We will make these requests. Make your sacrifice, Rhaskos.’
Rhaskos turned to Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus and indicated that they should help him lift the ram on to the altar. As they came forward Vespasian noticed Antenor staring intently, first at him and then at Sabinus.
‘Who are these men, Rhaskos?’
‘They’re passengers aboard my ship; they are here to witness the power of the Hero, not to make sacrifices themselves.’
‘You two are brothers?’
‘Yes, we are,’ Sabinus replied dismissively, unimpressed by the old priest’s perception; even the most cursory glance at them would discern a sibling likeness.
‘From where did you sail?’
‘From Tomi in the Euxine Sea,’ Vespasian replied, gripping the ram’s horns as it was lifted, unwillingly, on to the altar.
‘And you are sailing west?’ Antenor asked, stepping forward to the altar staring all the time at the two brothers.
‘To Ostia, yes,’ Vespasian confirmed as he and Sabinus fought against the growing urgency of the ram’s struggling.
The priest nodded, as if satisfied by what he had heard, and then turned his attention back to Rhaskos. ‘In the name of truth and healing accept this ram, mighty Amphiaraos.’
Rhaskos picked up the sacrificial knife and flashed it across the ram’s throat. Blood splattered on to the altar. The ram’s eyes rolled in their sockets and its back legs kicked violently as it tried to resist death. Gradually the kicking died down and it sank to its knees; then it collapsed into the pool of its own blood, which soaked up into its fleece.
The other six priests came forward, each brandishing knives, and began to skin the victim.
After a while of hacking and sawing the blood-matted fleece came off intact. Antenor nodded his approval and turned the red-raw carcass on to its back. He took the sacrificial knife from Rhaskos and slit open the skinned ram’s belly. With a couple of sharp cuts he removed the liver and placed it on the altar’s edge. Again he nodded his approval — the auspices evidently were good — before something caught his eye and he turned the liver over, picked it up, looked closely at it and then glanced at Vespasian and Sabinus.
‘Stay a while,’ he said to the brothers, putting the liver back down. He turned to Rhaskos. ‘Now sleep, Rhaskos, whilst we eat a part of your sacrifice. Amphiaraos’ reply will come in your dream; take care to mark it well.’
Rhaskos bowed and, taking the fleece, turned to leave as the six priests set about the carcass with their knives, jointing it and throwing pieces of meat on to the grill. Fat sizzled and spat as it dripped on to the charcoal.
‘What I have to say is for you two alone,’ Antenor said once Rhaskos had left.
Vespasian looked at Magnus, who smiled. ‘I can take a hint, sir; I’ll see you outside.’
As Magnus’ footsteps echoed down the temple the old priest walked around the altar and took the brothers by the chin, one in each hand, and closed his eyes. Vespasian glanced sideways at Sabinus, who looked as nonplussed as he himself was feeling.
Eventually the priest let them go and opened his eyes. ‘It is as I thought when I first saw you,’ he asserted, ‘and the liver confirmed it.’
‘Confirmed what?’ Sabinus asked rubbing his chin.
‘For centuries we have been waiting to deliver a prophecy to two brothers who sail north to west on a cursed ship and come before the Hero as witnesses, not supplicants. I am satisfied that you are those brothers.’ He turned to the priests gathered around the cooking mutton. ‘Leto, fetch the scroll.’
A younger priest scurried off to the temple’s recesses and returned momentarily with a box. Antenor lifted the lid and brought out a parchment scroll of great antiquity.
‘This is a record of the prophecies of Amphiaraos,’ he said, unrolling the scroll. ‘Each one has a description of the person or persons to whom it must be delivered. Only the chief priest may read the scroll so that its contents will not be revealed by the loose tongues of the young.’
Behind him his colleagues had started to return to their seats, each chewing on a hunk of mutton.
‘Through the ages all but seven of the prophecies have been read,’ Antenor continued. ‘If you both choose to hear it I will read the one pertaining to you.’
Ever since overhearing, at the age of fifteen, his parents discussing the omens that surrounded his birth and the favourable prophecy attached to them Vespasian had been intrigued to know its exact content. He looked at Sabinus, whom he knew had, aged almost five, been present when that prophecy had been made but had been bound by an oath never to reveal it. Their father, Titus, had made the two brothers swear a further oath, a greater oath, before all the gods, including Mithras — the only god that Sabinus truly revered — that would enable him to tell Vespasian the contents of the prophecy at some time in the future; perhaps that time was now.
‘I’m willing to hear it,’ he said. ‘What about you, Sabinus?’
Sabinus looked reluctant. ‘It can be dangerous to know too much of the future.’
‘I didn’t think you gave much credence to the mysteries of the old gods now that you’re happily bathing in Mithras’ light,’ Vespasian said — unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice — ‘so how can you fear something that you no longer believe in?’
‘I don’t deny the existence of the old gods, little brother; I just deny their supremacy over my lord, Mithras. Prophecies made before his coming may well have substance and should be treated with caution; I prefer not to hear it.’
Vespasian snorted in exasperation. ‘All right, if you don’t want to hear it then that’s fine. Just read to me, Antenor.’
‘I can only read it to both of you together or not at all,’ the old priest replied.
‘Then it’s not at all,’ Sabinus said, turning to leave.