They fought their way through thick crowds until they could see the Via Appia where it turned to round the Palatine Hill. In the distance they could hear the sound of flutes and drums.
"Just in time," Malcolm grinned.
Margo craned to see. She was taller than the waiting crowd, which was a novel experience. She could see movement now in the street. Sunlight glittered against gold. The shrill of trumpets and the sharp sound of tympani drums rose above the noise of the crowd. Then she could see individuals. The person in the lead wore a long gown with folds of cloth pulled up like a hood. Under it Margo could see some kind of crown with three separate disks across the brow.
"Is that a priestess?" she asked excitedly.
"No, that's the archgalli -- the High Priest of Attis.
He just arrived in Rome through the new port Claudius is building. He managed to secure permission for this procession, to carry the sacred tree to Cybele's temple."
Margo blinked. "But he's dressed like a woman. I mean, he isn't dressed like any of the other men I've seen so far. Is it because he's a foreigner?"
"No, you were right the first time. Attis priests wore women's clothing. For that matter, so did the priests of Hercules."
Hercules? Mr. Macho himself, the guy with all the muscles who'd done all those impossible labors or whatever they were called? Why would Hercules' priests dress like women? It didn't make any sense. With every maddening snippet of information Malcolm shared, she sensed a vast depth of knowledge he wasn't sharing. She glanced up, wanting to ask, but he was so visibly excited by the procession wending its way toward them she decided to hold her question for later. He darted his gaze eagerly, noting details, even mumbling to himself.
The high priest-archgalli Malcolm had called him,neared their position. He moved slowly, wailing in a shrill voice and weeping while beating himself with a long flail. He held a scepter made of reeds in his other hand. Behind him came sweating bearers with a heavy litter. On it rode the gilded statue of a gorgeous young man in a soft, peaked cap. His "shirt" was open to the groin, leaving his chest and belly bare to well below the navel. His trousers were carved with diamond shaped cutouts like a Harlequin's costume. In one hand he held what looked like a walking cane.
In the other, he held a small tympani drum exactly like the ones carried by wailing priests who trailed behind. They beat their drums with flails, then beat themselves, then sounded the tympanies again. Priests behind them, also wailing at the top of their lungs, carried more of the reed scepters. Behind them came another litter earned by sweating priests. On it was a statue of a tree. Sunstruck pine cones glittered with gold leaf
"A pine tree?" Margo asked doubtfully.
"Shh! Later! Look!"
Margo widened her eyes. "My God..."
Half a dozen men each held thick leather leashes which chained a pair of lions. The huge cats glared at the crowd with hateful amber eyes. Margo clutched Malcolm's arm. "They're not even caged!" The lion handlers were sweating profusely, dragging on the leashes to keep their charges in the center of the street. Behind the stalking lions came another great litter. On it rode a gilded statue of a tall, beautiful woman. She rode a chariot drawn by lions.
"Cybele?" Margo whispered
Malcolm just nodded He was listening to the chanting priests. What were they saying? The crowd took up the chant, too, as the Magna Mater passed regally by Some people tossed coins which weeping priests scooped off the paving stones and drop into little bowls. Behind the gilded image came two priests who led a great black bull with scarlet robes draped across its back. At the rear of the procession came trumpeters, flute players, and a host of young men who stumbled along with glazed eyes, beating themselves with flails and wailing. They carried no reed scepters.
"Who are they?" Margo asked.
"Initiates. They'll dedicate themselves to Attis today. But I rather doubt they'll do it in the traditional Phrygian fashion. Claudius hasn't legalized that."
"They look stoned."
"They probably are."
She stared. "Why?"
"Purification ritual. Come on, if we scramble, I know a way up the hill."
Margo followed his lead as they dodged up the Palatine through narrow alleys that led past the imperial palace toward the crowning Temple of Magna Mater. Crowds had gathered there, too. In a courtyard at the front of the temple they found space to jam themselves close enough to watch. The shrill of flutes, trumpets, and wailing voices drew nearer as the procession wound its way up the far side of the Palatine.
"They're passing through the Forum," Malcolm explained, "down the Sacra Via. Look, here they come."
Margo stood on tiptoe, anxious not to miss anything. What exactly was going on? She didn't know anything about Attis or Cybele-and Malcolm was so caught up in the moment she didn't want to interrupt to ask for explanations. The High Priest arrived first and took a position near a long, deep trench which had been dug in the courtyard. Planks capped it, arranged so that gaps showed. The images of Attis, Cybele, and the pine tree were carried up the steps to the entrance of the temple. The leashed lions snarled at the crowd The roar vibrated against Margo's chest, bringing a prickle of unreasoning terror to the back of her neck.
The courtyard filled up. The black bull was led in and paraded around the periphery. Over in front of the temple, priests had lifted the gilded image of Attis off its litter. They were tying it to the gilt pine tree with stout ropes. Other ropes served as guide wires to keep the pine tree from toppling under the weight.
A line of robed priestesses-Margo was sure, this time, that she was looking at women-appeared from inside Cybele's temple and took up positions in a semicircle. The High Priest led the black bull onto the platform, where several attendants held it with strong ropes. A swift glance at Malcolm showed Margo a man completely lost in study. He watched the barbaric scene as though memorizing every baffling detail.
This is his specialty, Margo remembered suddenly, what he took his degrees in., Classics and Antiquities and stuff. He's forgotten me completely. She'd seen Malcolm the teacher, Malcolm the guide, Malcolm the sparring partner, even Malcolm the perennially broke friend who made her smile when she felt like curling into a ball and hiding from the world, but she'd never seen Malcolm the scholar enthralled by his life's passion.
The intensity of his gaze made her wish suddenly he'd look at her that way.
You want him to do that, you're going to have to meet him on even ground, Margo. And that meant she had to become a scholar. Well, she'd already discovered a burning desire to learn and understand; what better place to start than with something Malcolm, too, found passionately interesting? So get started already!
Margo studied the scene before her, trying to look at it as a student of ancient cultures. She wished she hadn't skipped so many Latin lessons or skimped on the cultural reading Kit had assigned her in favor of more time in the gym. Robed initiates stripped naked and descended into the deep trench. The bull lowed piteously. Its eyes rolled white. Someone she couldn't see too well was doing something under the animal's belly. She caught a flash of sunlight on steel as the High Priest shouted something.
The bull screamed and lunged. The men holding it strained at the ropes. The knife flashed again to the throat, this time. Margo flinched. God, they're really killing it .... Blood poured through gaps into the trench. The bull fought, screaming and bellowing and bleeding to death at the end of its ropes. Margo covered her ears. She'd never seen an animal die up close like this, hadn't realized they would scream so pitifully. It was terrible, cruel, monstrous ....