Dark Omens by Rosemary Rowe Read Free Book Online Page A

they? He’s the most important guest and wasn’t he bringing the officiating priest?’
    I nodded. ‘I believe that was the plan. The man was travelling from Aqua Sulis to attend and was due to lodge with Marcus overnight.’ I looked at Junio. ‘You don’t suppose … Ah, but here’s my patron now! And he wasn’t in the temple. He’s just come from the street!’
    The clamour of voices had faded to a breathless murmuring and Marcus Septimus Aurelius was striding down the central aisle in the direction of the altar at the front, flanked by a pair of slaves. They were impressive in their crimson uniforms but he himself was quite magnificent. His patrician toga, with its broad purple stripe, had never looked more dazzling, and round his shoulders he had draped a white cape of finest fur, which swung open at every step he took to reveal the scarlet lining underneath.
    The spectators who had crammed into the courtyard for the feast, so tightly that – a moment since – there seemed barely room to breathe, somehow contrived to melt away to either side to let him through.
    A bevy of priests came out of the inner room as he approached, all robed and hooded for the sacrifice, and there was a hasty conference at the rostrum steps. The crowd was silent, suddenly – all whispering had ceased and even the flautists and recorders had stopped their tootling.
    Then Marcus strode up the steps on to the central dais, accompanied by a temple slave on either side. It hardly needed the lituus-player to herald his address: attentive silence had already fallen before the crooked horn rang out.
    Marcus turned directly to the crowd. ‘Citizens of Glevum, Romans, friends. I am the bearer of disappointing news. The high priest of Juno from Rome, whom we had hoped to welcome here today, has not been able to reach us in the snow. As you may have known he was supposed to stay with me last night, but we received a messenger from him only yesterday, to tell us that his carriage had been unable to proceed – and indeed had only with difficulty managed to take refuge in an inn.’
    There was a murmur at this. There are strict observances required of a priest, which would not be easy in a common hostelry.
    Marcus was still speaking. ‘Even the messenger on horseback had trouble getting through. So our hoped-for celebrant will not be with us for today.’
    There was a louder murmur. People were muttering about ill omens getting worse, but Marcus held his hand up and uneasy silence fell.
    ‘Fortunately there is no problem with the Janus sacrifice,’ he went on. ‘You will know that the duty by tradition falls to the most senior priest available, so we are lucky in having another venerable celebrant, the former High Priest of Diana, and of Luna and Fortuna too – to act as our ‘rex sacerdotum’ and perform the sacrifice. He has agreed to do so, and as soon as he has performed the ritual ablutions and prepared himself, the ceremonial procession will begin. In the meantime, the flautists and singers will perform for us.’
    There was sporadic clapping in some sections of the crowd but most people were looking at each other in dismay. The ‘venerable’ priest of whom my patron spoke was very old and frail and had ceased to officiate at public gatherings. This was officially because of failing health, but there had been an incident a year or two before when he almost forgot a portion of the ritual – which would of course have meant that the sacrifice was void – so if he had not been prompted (just in time) by a judicious cough from a watchful acolyte, the whole ceremony would have had to start again.
    Today, however, he seemed in better form. When, a short time later – after the musicians had performed a song – he emerged from the inner cellum, duly washed and anointed with the sacred oil, he looked almost sprightly. He had buckled on a brazen belt over his long under-tunic, his fresh toga was of sparkling white, and when the pipes and