“Where is she now?” said Antipater.
“I don’t know. At night she goes home to a little hut on the outskirts of town. But she’s an early riser. She’s usually in the tavern before I get up.”
“Perhaps something’s happened to her,” said Antipater.
“Or perhaps she’s fled,” I said. “You don’t think Ismene could have—”
Gnaeus snorted. “If you think Ismene played some part in this, you’re mad. Why would she want to harm these men? Why would anyone have done this?”
I thought of the way Tullius had talked about the destruction of Corinth, disparaging its people and blaming them for their own demise. Antipater had been offended by his remarks. Whom else had Tullius offended, here at the tavern or elsewhere? Had the ghosts of Corinth themselves been stirred to retribution by his slanders? Horrified by the inexplicable slaughter, my imagination ran wild.
Antipater thought of a simpler motive. “Perhaps they were robbed.”
Gnaeus ran upstairs and returned a few moments later. “Their rooms appear to be untouched. No one’s taken their things.” He shook his head. “The garrison commander will have to be told. I’ll go to him myself.”
Not caring to remain in a room full of corpses, Antipater and I waited in the street outside until the innkeeper returned. He was followed by a troop of armed soldiers marching in formation. The dogs yelped and scattered at their approach. Among the men I recognized Marcus and his superstitious friend Lucius. At their head was a silver- haired officer with a weak chin and a patrician bearing.
The officer took a good look at Antipater and me. “You two are witnesses?”
“I found the bodies,” I said. “But we didn’t witness anything.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Quintus Menenius, commander of the garrison here at Lechaeum. And who are you?”
“I’m Gordianus of Rome. This is my old tutor, Zoticus. We’ve just come from the Games at Olympia. We were going to cross the isthmus this morning and catch a ship over at Cenchrea—”
“Not today, you won’t. Show me these bodies, Centurion Gnaeus,” he said, paying the innkeeper the courtesy of using his old title. “And you two, come along. I may have more questions for you.”
Quintus Menenius had surely witnessed bloodier spectacles in his years of military service, but when he saw the carnage in the tavern he drew a sharp breath and shuddered.
“All these men were your guests here at the inn, Centurion Gnaeus?”
“Yes.”
“Were they robbed?”
“Their rooms appear to be untouched. I don’t know about their persons.”
“Lucius! Marcus! Examine the bodies. See if you find any coin purses.”
Moving from corpse to corpse, the two soldiers found small money bags on each, all apparently intact.
The commander furrowed his brow. “No robbery? Then why were they killed? And how was it done, without a struggle?” He shook his head. “Put the coin purses back where you found them, men. These are Roman citizens. There will have to be a scrupulous inventory of each victim’s property—for the inquest.” He uttered the final word with a tone of dread, and sighed, as if weary already of the mountain of reports he would be obliged to file.
Stuffing a coin purse back where he had found it, Lucius suddenly drew back.
“What do you see, soldier?” said Menenius.
At the same moment, from the corner of my eye, I noticed Marcus; he, too, was returning a coin purse, this one to the body of Titus Tullius—but did I see him remove an object from the little leather bag? I wasn’t sure, and no one else seemed to notice. Then I was distracted, for Lucius, having previously drawn back, now cautiously reached for something beneath the body at his feet, then snatched back his hand as if scalded.
“By Hercules, man, what is it?” Stepping over corpses, Menenius stooped down and pulled a thin, flat object from beneath the body. It was a lead tablet such as I had seen in the witch’s den.
Menenius heard me gasp. He gave me a sharp look, then returned his attention to the tablet, squinting at the letters scraped into the lead. With a snort, he abruptly crossed the room and shoved the tablet into my hands. “Here, you have young eyes—and you seem to know what this is. Read it aloud.”
I scanned the words. Hackles rose on my neck. “I’m not sure I should.”
“Read it!”
I took a deep breath. “‘Ananke, I call on you. Moira, I call on you. Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name, I call on you. Strike down these impious Romans! Rob them of their lives and let them join the dead whom they besmirch. Open their throats and let the blood of life pour out of them—’”
Lucius emitted a stifled shriek and began to shake. He looked as if he might bolt from the room. Only his commander’s glowering gaze held him in check.
“Go on!” shouted Menenius.
“‘Destroy these Romans, Ananke. Destroy them utterly, Moira. Annihilate the impious defamers of the dead, Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name—’”
Lucius began to sway. His eyes rolled up in his head. He crumpled to the floor amid the dead bodies.
“By Hercules, the man’s fainted!” said Menenius with disgust. He ordered a couple of his soldiers to tend to Lucius, then snatched the lead tablet from me. “Witchcraft!” he declared. “The local women are mad for it. Was this the work of your serving woman, Centurion Gnaeus?”
The innkeeper looked back at him, speechless.
