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“You mean the Marruvians and the Marsi in general are unaware that their snake has been purloined?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “If her disappearance should become common knowledge, I fear there could be widespread panic. In these unsettled times, with so many of our men serving in the armies, there could be disaster. Thus far, only the priesthood of the temple know.”
“Of what breed is she? What does she look like?”
“The sacred serpent of Angitia belongs to a breed known only near the lake, called a swamp adder. They are black on the head and back, with a white belly. Of course our serpent is an especially magnificent specimen, about five feet long and as big around as your arm.”
“An adder? Then she is poisonous?”
“Decidedly. The swamp adder is deadlier than any Egyptian cobra or asp.”
“A brave thief, then.”
He shrugged. “Venomous serpents are easily handled, if one has the skills.”
“And why do you think that your sacred snake is in Rome?”
“When the theft was discovered, I pledged all of the personnel of the temple to silence and secrecy, and then I sought an omen from the goddess.”
“I am guessing that this involved snakes,” I said.
“What else?” he said, seemingly astonished.
“What else, indeed? And how did the goddess answer your entreaty?”
“First, we gathered several score of wild snakes from the lands adjacent to the temple, all of them belonging to lines known to us for generations.”
“One wouldn’t want to consult with foreign snakes,” I concurred.
“Of course not. After fasting for a day and a night, we performed all the proper sacrifices and sang the prayers in the original Marsian language, which has not been spoken for many generations. Then—”
I know all too well the tedium of hearing a man expound upon his favorite subject, which is of no interest to oneself, so I interrupted. “And what omen did you receive?”
“Oh. Well, at the moment the rite was finished, all kept silence in anticipation, and immediately there came a loud clap of thunder from the west. Clearly, the goddess wanted us to search to the west to find our serpent, and Rome lies to the west of Marruvium.”
“Couldn’t be clearer,” I agreed. “Yet there remains the matter of who snatched your snake and precisely why. What were the circumstances surrounding her disappearance? In what sort of confinement was she kept? I presume she was not permitted to just slither freely about the grounds?”
Again he looked pained. “She has a sanctuary beneath the altar.”
“What is it like? How large is it?”
He seemed puzzled at these questions. People often do when I interrogate them. My method of gathering evidence in small increments from as many sources as possible in order to get at the essence of what really happened left most people utterly mystified. The more charitable opined that I had invented a new school of philosophy. Those of a magical disposition think it is some sort of sorcery. I just consider it good sense, but I can convince few of my peers that this is the case.
“It is circular, earth-floored, naturally, but strewn with fragrant cedar bark. There are a number of statues of the present serpent’s revered ancestors, on small pedestals.”
I was tempted to ask him how each new holy snake was chosen, since snakes do not have offspring one at a time, but I was afraid that he would answer. “And how is the sanctuary accessed?”
“By a single passageway, quite narrow, that descends from a doorway pierced through the stairway ascending to the portico and altar.”
“And this is the only ingress or egress available to either human or serpent?”
“It is.”
“And is the access by way of a stairway, or by an inclined ramp?”
“It is a slanted floor. There are no stairs. Is this somehow significant?” He was getting impatient. I was used to that.
“It is indeed. A snake might have trouble ascending a stair, but not a ramp. Might it not have simply wandered off on its own? It must get dreadfully boring down there. One can only spend so much time contemplating the images of one’s ancestors. I know this. In my own atrium are the death masks of dozens of my Metellan ancestors, and a more sour-faced pack of patriotic villains is difficult to imagine. If I had to look at them all the time—”
