The Tribune's Curse by John Maddox Roberts

hear priests using, for they must often recite formulae in language so antiquated that even the best scholars disagree on their exact meaning, and the only way to speak them intelligibly is to chant them rhythmically. Priests are so accustomed to this mode of speech that they use it even when reciting prayers in Latin or Greek. Now he raised hands and wand high, and he shouted in a voice louder than ever.
    “I curse this man! I curse his expedition, and all who take part in it! I curse all who support it in Rome! In the name of all the gods I have invoked thus far, I invoke the most terrible execrations upon the head of Marcus Licinius Crassus!”
    Every jaw of the multitude sagged with disbelief. Unconsciously, we covered our heads as if attending a sacrifice. Everywhere, people were pulling out protective amulets and making the ancient hand gestures to ward off evil. A geniune, priestly curse was a great rarity, usually invoked only against a foreign enemy or, very rarely, a Roman traitor. Curses were only performed by qualified priests and then only under rigidly prescribed safeguards to prevent the curse from rebounding upon the priest and anyone else standing nearby.
    Thus far?
I thought. Who was left to invoke? I soon learned.
    Ateius reached into a fold of his weird robe and took outsomething that looked like a dried snake. This he cast into the flames, releasing a foul-smelling smoke. He drew forth a similarly dried human hand and cast it in. Herbs, roots, preserved animal and human parts went into the green flames. He snapped the wand in two and placed it on the flames. Then he drew a small, hook-bladed knife. With this he opened a vein on his forearm, and, as his blood dripped sizzling into the fire, he resumed his chant.
    “Father Dis, Plutus of the Underworld, Eita, Charun of the Hammer, Tuchulcha, Orcus, and all the Manes and Lemures, summon to the enforcement of my curse all the unspeakable minions of your realm!” And now he got down to the real business of the day.
    “Immortals! I invoke—” and here he spoke a name that was forbidden for any man below the priestly rank of
flamen
to pronounce, and even then only in the company of enrolled priests of the State. And then he spoke another. And another. These were unthinkably ancient, half-forgotten gods, most of them worshiped in Italy before the foundation of the City. Some were Etruscan gods, and Etruscans were the most powerful magicians outside of Egypt. Even now, all these many years later, the pen trembles in my hand as I think of that day. Well, my hand trembles these days anyway, but this is worse.
    I heard him speak the name of a god I had thought was only known within my own family, one we called upon to communicate with our dead ancestors at special Caecilian rites, after the
paterfamilias
had performed all the protective and purificatory rites. I looked around me and saw every major priest of the State gone dead white. The
virgo maxima
had her hands clamped tightly over her ears, and all the Vestals behind her did the same. The other citizens stood with looks of stupefied terror. One rarely sees people who are both panic-stricken and absolutely still.
    Ateius’s voice rose to an eerie, wailing shriek. At first the words were in one of the ancient, ritual languages that even Etruscansno longer understand, but that are terrifying just to hear. Then, in Latin:
    “I curse him forever, in life and in death! I curse his friends and followers! In the name of all the gods and demons I have invoked, I curse them all forever! Immortals, hear me!” With the last word, he kicked the brazier over, and it toppled from the top of the gate to the pavement, scattering flame and hot coals and foul-smelling substances indiscriminately. People drew back shrieking as clothes were set smoldering, and when we had wit to look up again, Ateius was gone. For a long time, nobody spoke.
    At last Cato uncovered his head. “What a time for the
pontifex maximus
to be out