The Legatus Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

throat so that the hot blood pours out on the altar-front. I have roared with the rest as the heart of the beast is cut out and burned with herbs and incense on the sacred hearth and cheered as the remainder of the carcass is dragged away – sometimes to be roasted and ritually eaten by the priests, sometimes even distributed to us.
    But all this always took place in the safety of the outer courtyard, with the people watching from the ambulatory: only the great and mighty dared to approach the altars or mount the steps beyond. And there were always crowds of people then. Today there was only silence, and the smell of death, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up at the thought of crossing the inner courtyard between those mighty shrines. Suppose this priest led us right up onto the podium and under the colonnade? That would take us to the real centre of the temple, its most sacred place, the
cella
of the divinity, which is not usually entered except by the most devout of worshippers. This was a Roman temple, not a Celtic one, and – on all but the rarest of occasions – for ordinary mortals the inner sanctum was a forbidden place. Only the priests and temple slaves could enter there.
    Of course, I told myself, this
was
a rare occasion. And I was accompanying Marcus, who was a dignitary, with the religious honour due to rank. All the same, as the assembled gods scowled stonily down on me, I hesitated. The temple had already been desecrated. By trespassing into the inner shrine I was likely to desecrate it further. Marcus’s slave was obviously of the same opinion, and he hung back with me under the veranda.
    ‘Libertus?’ Marcus had stopped and was gazing back towards me. He sounded exasperated.
    The possible irritation of the gods seemed suddenly preferable to the certainty of my patron’s wrath. I thrust my damp towel towards the slave and followed Marcus and Trinunculus. Somewhat to my relief, our guide did not lead us into the inner temple, but round the side of the complex towards the Imperial shrine.
    Through the little grove of trees which fronted it, we could see it clearly now: elegant marble pillars forming an outer passageway around the tiny shrine. The outer walls were decorated with magnificent wall paintings in vibrant colours, depicting the Emperor in heroic guise. There was a mosaic, too (of intricate design but indifferent workmanship), forming a path in the space created by the pillars. The entrance was a heavy wooden door flanked by life-sized marble statues in niches, and edged by carved posts in richly gilded wood. Lead curse and blessing tablets were nailed to the posts – only a few petitions, compared to other temples I had seen, but even the Imperial gods, it seemed, are worth a try in an emergency. One supplicant, ‘Lucianus the wretched’, had left a whole cluster of petitions, and there was the glint of gold among the coin offerings in the water basin, perhaps offered as additional inducement for the gods’ attention.
    The door of the sanctuary was closed, and in front of it a priest in mauve and reddish-purple robes was burning something on an outdoor altar while two – clearly lesser – priests stood by. Clouds of aromatic smoke arose, and there was the chanted rhythm of a prayer. The priest raised his hands and wafted the smoke towards the temple, then towards himself, and finally towards his attendants. Then he scattered something onto the altar from a silver flask, and all three prostrated themselves upon the ground. I could not help noticing, as they revealed their feet, that all three were wearing exquisite shoes of costly soft purple leather. Of course, I thought, all Augustales were wealthy men!
    There was a short pause, and then the chief sevir rose, pushed back the part of his robe with which he had covered his head – as required for the ceremony – and came striding towards us. He walked slowly and impressively, and I had to resist a temptation to