‘So anyone could have reached that, as well?’
‘Anyone who had access to the temple, and knew where it was put.’
‘And who was that?’
‘The pontifex, certainly — Meritus asked him where the key could properly be left — and I believe that Trinunculus was there, as well. Or any of the slaves, again.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Is there anything else you wish to ask me, citizen? I should not be absent from my duties for too long.’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘In that case, citizen, if you will permit. .?’ He was on his feet in an instant, going through his elaborate performance at the shrine again.
I stood up myself, put out an automatic hand to help myself — and narrowly missed touching the bloodstained plinth once more. Suddenly, for no reason that I could explain, the full horror of the last two days came over me, and I was overwhelmed by a desire to get out of there — away from disappearing corpses, mysterious bloodstains and supernatural reappearing rings.
I made the sketchiest of obeisances to the Imperial Divinity and hurried out, gulping the honest clean fresh air like a prisoner released from a fetid dungeon.
Scribonius was looking at me in astonishment, and I felt abashed. Out here in the daylight my fears seemed laughable. I tried to regain my dignity.
‘Of course, I may need to call upon your help again,’ I said.
‘It would be a pleasure, citizen,’ he assured me, although his tone said otherwise. He had not missed my moment of superstitious fear, and was clearly losing confidence in me.
‘I won’t forget to speak to the pontifex,’ I said, attempting to reassert what credibility I had. ‘I think you said there was a back way from his house into the temple. Can you take me there?’
Scribonius gave me a look which said more clearly than any words that I was not dressed for visiting the high priest. ‘If you are certain, citizen?’
‘I don’t mean to call on him like this. Only I should like to see the route. It may help me to work out what happened here last night.’
Scribonius still looked doubtful, but he took me there. Behind the central temple on its plinth, a narrow path led to a small gated opening in the perimeter wall. The gate was slightly open even now — only an inch or two, but by peering somewhat inelegantly through the gap I could see that it led into a peristyle garden beyond: a very ornate affair with fountains, arbours, statues, shrubs, a pool and narrow ornamental beds. I craned my head a little further round to get a better view, and drew back instantly.
There was a lady sitting in a grotto opposite — clearly a lady from her clothes and hair, although she seemed to be unattended in the garden. She was frowning over some document, written on a piece of folded bark, but as I pushed my head round the gate she half raised her eyes. There was no doubt that she had noticed me. But — and this was the astounding thing — instead of summoning a slave, and having me brought in for questioning, or even challenging me herself, she turned immediately away, pulling her mantle up to hide her face before I could really look at her.
I had just time, as I retreated in embarrassment at being seen, to register that she had done the same.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Citizen! You will offend the gods!’ Scribonius’s whispered protest startled me. ‘It is not proper to spy upon the pontifex!’ He gestured me urgently away from the gate. ‘It is an affront for anyone outside the household to see the pontifex without his official robes. There are enough ill omens in the temple as it is.’
After that embarrassing moment — when I was sure that I’d been seen — I was only too pleased to leave, and I allowed him to usher me back along the path. He was clearly as anxious as I was to have me away from there, and I had to walk quickly to keep up with him.
‘Suppose the pontifex had spotted you!’ he chided, in that schoolmasterly voice of his, when we were safely out of earshot and skirting round the central temple to the west. His tone suggested that even if I was not afraid of gods, at least I should beware of earthly powers.
‘The pontifex is in the temple still,’ I reminded him. ‘I was hardly likely to surprise him in the garden.’
Scribonius did not look impressed. ‘All the same, citizen. Someone might have seen you, and told him about it. Then I should have been blamed for that, as well as everything else. After all, I am supposed to be escorting you. Suppose there was someone in the garden, for example.’
‘There was someone sitting in a grotto,’ I admitted. ‘Though whoever it was seemed eager to avoid my eyes.’
Scribonius’s frown deepened. ‘One of the garden slaves, I suppose,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I doubt he will report the incident — he’ll be too afraid of being caught out sitting down. The chief priest likes his garden slaves to work!’ He was still striding down the path at an alarming pace.
‘I suppose they have to,’ I said, rather breathlessly. I was struggling to match my step to his. ‘It’s a very elaborate garden. Not the sort of thing that you’d expect.’ Scribonius looked at me quizzically, so I hastened to explain. ‘I thought the old man was so busy observing rules and denying himself in case they made him flamen some day that he had little time for material pleasures, such as gardens.’
Scribonius slowed at this, and permitted himself a smile. ‘So you know about his flaminial ambitions? Of course. But the peristyle is not for the pontifex’s pleasure, citizen, it is for his wife’s. She is very partial to the garden, and of course whatever she says is like an imperial command. The old man can’t afford to offend her, or that would be farewell to his hopes of ever succeeding to the flaminate. Especially now.’ He gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘Trinunculus says the poor fellow already has more servants attending his plants than his person.’
That was interesting, I thought. Scribonius was in awe of the high priest’s power, but he was still capable of disrespect, at least on the subject of Aurelia. ‘Why do you say “especially now”? Because of the happenings at the shrine? Surely they don’t affect Aurelia?’
Scribonius seemed about to speak, but then he frowned. He looked at me sideways, made a doubtful clicking sound and shook his head. He looked so like a shifty market trader deliberating a dubious bargain in the forum that I was emboldened to persist. ‘I think you should tell me everything, Scribonius, if you wish me to put in a good word for you. .’
He glanced around him nervously, and ran an anxious tongue across his lips. ‘I suppose it is no real secret, citizen. The fact is, the imperial messenger brought word, when he came to tell us Marcellus Fabius was on his way. I don’t know if he told your patron too, but no doubt it will be common rumour soon enough. .’
‘What will?’ I said impatiently. He was still hesitating, so I added, ‘Look, Scribonius, if this concerns the running of the temple, my patron will have to know in any case, since he is the highest civic authority hereabouts, and nothing can be decided without consulting him. And if this is something that you could tell Marcus, then you can tell me. His Excellence made me his representative, you heard him: and the pontifex himself expects you to help me in any way you can.’
‘I suppose so, citizen. Well, you see. . the thing is. .’ he took a deep breath, ‘the current Flamen Dialis is ill. . dying. . It is supposed to be a temple secret, for the moment.’
He glanced up at the image of Jupiter on the pediment, as though expecting retribution for having said so much. There were no thunderbolts, however, and after a moment he continued, ‘Of course, when one flamen dies, another must be appointed, and there are few enough priests in the Empire who meet all the qualifying criteria — not only concerning himself but his wife and parents too — so our pontifex must think he had a realistic chance, this time.’
I nodded. ‘I see.’ I remembered what Trinunculus had said. ‘The right patrician background, the right kind of temple marriage, all that kind of thing? And an unbroken marriage record too?’