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“Then where is the snake?” I asked her. “It didn’t crawl out of there unaided after biting the unfortunate priest or whoever he was.” I looked around me. Between the small torches and my eyes adjusting to the gloom, I could see tolerably well. It was quite a small space, only a single room with no access save the narrow doorway. The floor was completely bare and the walls featureless except for some faded paintings that depicted what I presumed to be scenes from the cult of Angitia. I was unfamiliar with the myths but there was a woman resembling the statue, a bull, and a great many snakes.
“It could be under the body,” Julia pointed out. “Poplicola said the bull sometimes falls on the snake.”
“Foretelling disaster,” I noted. “I wonder if being crushed by a falling priest is a similarly dire omen. And if so, is it just for the Marsi or for anyone in the vicinity?”
We were but a short distance from the Domus Publica in the Forum, so it was not long before we heard the tramp of twenty-four lictors preceding the Dictator in great pomp. We went to the doorway and saw that the great man had indeed arrived, followed by a mob of gawking Forum layabouts (some of them my fellow senators). Crowds always followed Caesar around in those days, just to see if anything should happen, I suppose. He wore his pontifical regalia along with his usual gilded laurel wreath and triumphator’s robe. Hermes stood behind Caesar, but the man to his right caused Julia to gasp.
“It’s Pompaedius!” she whispered. “He’s alive!”
I was not entirely surprised. “I am sorry to have interrupted your day, Caesar, but matters here require your presence.”
“Nonsense, Decius Caecilius,” Caesar said jovially. “You always find the most bizarre murders for our entertainment. What is it this time?”
“If you will come inside, Caesar and Pompaedius, but please, no others. It is already quite cramped enough.”
Caesar entered. “And how is my favorite niece today?” he said to Julia, as always the soul of courtesy.
“A bit upset, I’m afraid. The dead priest is in the most deplorable condition.”
“Priest?” Caesar said, leaning over the pit. The linkboys gaped at the Dictator’s splendor. They were certainly getting an eyeful that day.
“Well, we think he was a priest,” Julia said. “He’s in the robes of Angitia’s priesthood, anyhow. In fact, we thought it was Lucius Pompaedius here. I see now that we were mistaken.”
Caesar straightened. “May I know the meaning of this?”
“It is precisely that meaning that I have been trying to ascertain,” I told him. “Perhaps your client Pompaedius can enlighten us.”
“This man has died from the bite of a swamp adder,” the priest said. “That much is clear. It must have been he who purloined the sacred serpent. You all bear witness to how the goddess has punished him for the sacrilege.”
“And his identity?” I asked.
“Just some imposter,” Pompaedius said. “All the priests of Angitia wear the saffron toga, but only I, the high priest, am entitled to this.” He touched the yellow fillet encircling his brow.
“I see.” Caesar turned to me. “Decius, as you should know, in my office of pontifex maximus I pronounce judgment on all matters pertaining to the state religion. Bring me a problem involving Jupiter, Juno, Saturn, Mars, and I can sort it out for you. Quirinus and Janus fall within my realm of authority. I do not pronounce on matters concerning foreign deities. For that, one usually consults with the quinquidecemviri and they in turn consult the Sybilline Books. Typically, this is done when the fate of the state is involved, and I fail to see such a matter here.” Caesar could lay on the sarcasm when he wanted to.
“Actually, Caesar, I am afraid that I stooped to a subterfuge,” I admitted. “Your presence here is required in your capacity as the supreme magistrate.”
Caesar looked annoyed and began to reply when Julia said, “Everyone be very still.”
“Eh?” I said with my usual quick wit.
Very slowly Julia raised her arm and pointed toward the statue’s feet. “One of those snakes is alive.”
“By Jupiter, so it is,” I said, eyeing the slowly wriggling form with horrified fascination. “The light in here is too uncertain to determine coloration, but I am willing to hazard a guess that this is a swamp adder.”
“Somebody kill that thing,” Caesar said with distaste in his voice. He never did like snakes.
“Caesar, you cannot!” Pompaedius protested. “That is the sacred Serpent of Angitia!”
“That does present us with a problem,” Caesar said. “I wouldn’t want my Marsian troops to hold me responsible for killing their holy snake.”
“Please, there is no danger,” Pompaedius said complacently. With great solemnity he walked around the pit and stood a pace from the statue, to which he bowed and muttered something while holding his hands forth, palms down. This told me that Angitia was worshipped as an underworld deity. I was getting quite an education in religious matters that day.
His devotions completed, Pompaedius turned his attention to the snake. He extended his arms toward it and began wiggling his fingers rhythmically, edging closer with tiny steps. The snake stared at his hands and seemed enthralled. I watched with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. It always makes me uncomfortable to see someone performing magic.
Very slowly, the fingers of his right hand slowed and then stopped their wriggling. His left continued the spell-casting. Then he moved his right hand gradually toward the snake’s head until it was behind the flaring base of the wedge-shaped skull. Julia gasped when he grasped the thing by the neck. At least I’m pretty sure it was Julia. I don’t think it was me.
Pompaedius straightened. The snake, which was indeed a huge, fat specimen, tried to wrap itself around him, but he somehow arranged it in graceful loops draped from his shoulders with a terminal coil around his waist. He cooed into the place where a snake doesn’t have an ear and the thing seemed to relax.
