Oracles of Delphi by Marie Savage

Author:Marie Savage [Savage, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Treehouse Publishing Group
Published: 2014-06-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-one

Heraklios’ office was large and generously appointed with a wide window that offered a view of the Temple. There was an impressive wooden desk, thick rugs to cover the stone floor, several braziers to keep away the chill, large torch stands to keep the room lit even in the darkest night, and two ornate high-backed chairs that Philon and Kleomon now occupied. Praxis and Theron stood in the middle of the room watching while Heraklios harangued the two priests from the comfort of a well worn soldier’s three-legged camp stool.

“How many times must I repeat myself?” Heraklios sounded as if he were dead tired of the refrain. “You get to run your temple your way, and as long as you don’t cause me trouble, I look the other way. But I am in charge of everything else. And that means when someone shows up to claim a body found in the theater—not in the temple—you send a messenger for me. You do not just hand the body over.”

Theron exchanged a glance with Praxis and said, “Philon, you said it was the girl’s mother who claimed the body. Was there not a male relative with her? A brother?” Theron recalled his sister’s words: Phoibe sent her consort Georgios to Charis’s village to notify her brother. Both her parents are dead and she had no other living family.

“No. Only Georgios, Phoibe’s consort.”

“This Georgios, is he the same one that trains over at the gymnasium? The pankratiasts?” Heraklios asked.

“The same,” Kleomon said. “And it proves the priestesses are involved. They want their sacrificial offering back. Phoibe wouldn’t send her lover to get the body otherwise. Ignorant peasant. The man practically accused me of murder to my face,” the old priest huffed.

“Just two weeks ago he was a brilliant champion when you bet on him to win his last competititon.” Utter contempt flashed across Philon’s face as he spoke, and Theron wondered why the relationship between the two men seemed so poisonous.

“Just two weeks ago, we hadn’t had a murder in the—” Kleomon said.

“This is troubling,” Theron said, interrupting the priests’ squabbling. “What about her brother?”

“What about him?” Philon asked.

“I expected him to claim the body.”

“It is a man’s job, but perhaps he was away from home and couldn’t come. Why? What are you thinking?” Heraklios asked.

“That whoever claimed the body, it was certainly not anyone in her family.”

“Why do you say that?” Kleomon said. “The mother was with Georgios.”

“Her mother is dead. The girl’s bother is her only surviving family.”

“Impossible! How do you know this? Georgios would not dare lie to the priests of Apollon.”

“Describe the woman,” Theron commanded.

“There is little to describe,” Philon answered. “She kept her face covered as if in mourning and her cloak was pulled up over her hair.”

“Did she speak?” Theron asked.

“Not a word,” Kleomon said, as he turned toward Philon. “It was you who wanted to be rid of the body. It was your decision to let them have it, and now it appears you have handed it over to Phoibe, and who knows what twisted rites those women will perform over it.

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