I was surprised. A moment ago Scribonius had been completely in control of himself. What was there about this ring that had unmanned him so? ‘You have seen this ring before?’
‘I saw it yesterday,’ he said. ‘First when you found it at the shrine, then later when Trinunculus brought it back to us. The pontifex refused to handle it, he said, so Meritus told him to put it in the sacred water butt, as a propitiation to the gods.’ He shrugged, as if giving up a struggle. ‘But that’s not the really important thing. The truth is, I’m sure I’ve seen it once before. On the finger of that legate who was murdered all those years ago. He came to dinner with my master once. I was a young man then, and I never saw him again — but that ring is very like the one he wore. The way that eagle doesn’t sit quite straight, you see? And then I heard that he’d been set upon and killed. I don’t know why I should remember it, especially, except that he was so very proud of it. But of course no one else here has ever seen the ring before, so that uneven eagle would have no significance for them. That is what upsets me, citizen. Its reappearance must be meant for me!’
I stared at the ring. It was the same one that I’d seen before. I had noticed the imperfection earlier. ‘But surely. .’
He gave a bitter, sharp, uncertain laugh. ‘You do not know the sacred writings, citizen. I do. It is clear from them that a man can sometimes be what they describe as “the unwitting tool of the gods”, the channel through which the deities pour out their wrath and work out their purposes.’
I stared at him. ‘Did you put this ring here?’
‘Of course not, citizen. But it manifested itself when I was here. Just as the blood did earlier. Oh, dear Mercury! I knew that it was an unlucky sign yesterday, when Hirsus dropped the sacrificial knife. He is such a feeble creature, he seems incapable of doing things correctly. And I allowed him to rush the purification rituals. Then I connived at unconsecrated persons entering the sanctuary. It serves me right. The recorded precedents are very clear!’
As one of the unconsecrated persons he was alluding to — and one who had desecrated the sacred grove, as well — I could see that I was troubling him by simply being there. Any moment now, he would decide that the reappearance of the ring was somehow connected with my presence — after all, I had found it twice. And if he persuaded the other priests of that, I would be in serious difficulty. Not only would I have to make more propitiation to the gods (which would certainly be expensive, and possibly even physically painful) but I would assuredly be banished from the shrine. Yet there was a great deal more that I needed to discover. Somehow Scribonius must be persuaded to let me stay — and even to help me if necessary.
I thought quickly.
‘I wonder what the pontifex will say when he hears that these things are happening around you?’ I murmured, with a pretence at sympathy.
‘I know what that pontifex will say!’ He sounded petulant. ‘That I am ill-omened and not fitted to continue as assistant priest. After all the effort I have made. And to think that I was worrying about my promotion to the equites! If this is proved against me, I shall be never be a knight. I shall be lucky to get out of this alive.’
I could think of nothing adequate to say. He was probably right — as he pointed out himself, he knew the priestly code better than I did. After all, military messengers are sometimes executed for bringing their generals bad news in the field. Doubtless the same principle applies to priests. There was, however, one ray of comfort I could offer him. ‘But it was to Meritus, surely, that the body first appeared?’
Scribonius brightened visibly. ‘You are quite right, citizen. It was.’
‘Perhaps I can say so to the pontifex, if he tries to argue that you are one of these “unwitting instruments of the gods”? Or even a deliberate one.’
He emitted that moaning sound again. ‘You don’t believe that, do you, citizen?’
I shook my head. ‘That you are an unwitting instrument? Not for a moment, I assure you, sub-Sevir Scribonius.’ I was prevaricating. If he was an instrument, I thought, he would not be an ‘unwitting’ one — but my words appeared to calm him.
‘Thank you, citizen. If you would really speak to the Pontifex. .? It is clear that he respects your judgement. See how he deferred to you yesterday.’
‘If I am to help you,’ I said severely, ‘I shall need your help in return. There are things about this temple that I need to know.’
‘If there is anything that I can do — anything at all — to help in your enquiries, be sure that I shall be delighted. Rituals, customs — anything that’s not forbidden by the laws. Where would you care to have our talk?’
‘Here, where we are unlikely to be disturbed. Put down that taper and come and sit beside me.’ I patted the marble floor invitingly.
‘But citizen, the temple. .’ he began, and then tailed off. He put down the taper where I had indicated, prostrated himself before the statue of the Emperor, kissed the altar, smeared his forehead with the ashes from it, and finally came to squat gingerly beside me, moving his robes carefully to avoid the stain.
I regarded him coolly. ‘You can begin,’ I said, ‘by telling me exactly what happened here last night. I understand you all slept at the temple. Where, and when, and how was it arranged?’
Scribonius looked startled, as if he were surprised that I wanted to know anything so mundane, but he answered readily enough. ‘There is a room set aside in the outbuilding for the officiating priest who is on duty here at dawn — usually that is Meritus, but sometimes on low days it is Hirsus, and occasionally the honour falls on me. Meritus has a house nearby, of course — it is required of a sevir that he resides near the temple for his year of office — but it is convenient for us because we live farther away, and he himself often prefers to stay the night before. The previous sevir used to do the same. So there is always a mattress and some blankets here, and of course the temple slaves have sleeping spaces too — it was not difficult to find a place. Naturally, with the events of yesterday, it was thought proper for us all to stay. There was always to be one of us awake — to keep the sacred fire alight on the outer altar, and to offer propitiatory prayers throughout the night.’
‘So,’ I said, trying to disguise my growing interest, ‘any one of you might have come out into the courtyard and opened up the back door to the shrine? While the others slept?’
‘I suppose so, citizen,’ he answered doubtfully, taking up his taper again and holding it up to look at the offending bolt with lugubrious interest. ‘But no more so than any of the slaves. Or Trinunculus, for that matter: he lodges with the pontifex, and the house backs directly onto the temple enclosure. I suppose it would have been an easy matter for any of them to slip in here unseen.’
Or Aurelia, I thought. Or even — with her help — Optimus. I sighed. There seemed little hope of finding a solution here. Then I remembered something. ‘But the front entrance to the shrine was locked. Who held the key?’
‘Meritus, usually. But last night Hirsus should have had it, since he was to open up the shrine at dawn. .’ He hesitated.
‘You say he should have had it,’ I prompted. ‘That suggests he didn’t.’
Scribonius’s prim face flushed. ‘You are quite right, citizen. He was terrified of even touching it. In the end Meritus put it on top of the storage chest where the robes are kept — and as far as I know it was there all night.’
‘Is that in the room where you were sleeping?’
‘We slept in different chambers, citizen. Meritus was in the inner cubicle, and Hirsus and I had partitioned spaces in the slaves’ quarters. The chest is in the robing room between the two.’