Not at all.

Margo had never seen anything like the Procession of Attis.

Their inn lay on the southern side of the Aventine Hill near the Tiber. From there, Malcolm led the way around the end of the Circus where the starting gates overlooked a bend in the river and kept going all the way to the Palatine side of the mile-long Circus.

"Hey!" Margo said, pointing to a small, round temple. "I know that one! That's the Temple of Vestal"

"Mmm ... Well, it's been misnamed that for years, yes." Margo's spirits fell. "You're in good company." Malcolm grinned. "Hundreds of books still mislabel it that. Actually it was the Temple of Hercules. And that," he pointed to a squarish temple a stone's throw away, "is the Temple of Fortuna Virilis."

"Fortuna Virilis?"

"Temple of Man's Fate. Fate and the Circus games are very closely connected."

That made sense. Men died in the Circus.

"See up there?" he pointed to the crown of the Palatine Hill. "That's the Imperial residence. And that," he pointed to a magnificent temple which faced the great Circus, "is the Temple of the Magna Mater Deum Idea."

"What's that?" Margo asked breathlessly.

"What does it sound like?"

She considered, dredging up the bits of Latin she'd absorbed. "Magna sounds like magnificent. Mater... I'm not sure. Magnificent Material? Matter?"

"No, mater means mother. It's one of the words that sound similar in all languages descended from Indo-European: mater, mere, madre, mutter, mother."

"Oh. Magnificent Mother?"

"Close. Great Mother. What about the Deum Idea?"

"Uh ... Deum is, like, deify?"

"Good guess. Deum translates `of the gods'," Malcolm explained.

"Great Mother of the Gods of Ideas?" she guessed.

Malcolm grinned. "Not quite, although it's a logical enough guess. Idea in this case, however, refers to a mountain in Phrygia, near Troy. The Magna Mater is the goddess Cybele, the great mother of the gods from Phrygia. She's an import to Rome, but a very old one. About three hundred years ago, in fact. Her cult's been completely Romanized, of course. The Julian gens Julius and Augustus Caesar's family-claims her as a founding deity. She was sacred to Aeneas, who founded their family. Claudius' family also has ties to her through Claudia Quintas."

Margo stared up the Palatine Hill, wondering what Malcolm saw that she didn't because she didn't know what to look for or what she was looking at. Okay, I have to study and I will. But if I don't start scouting soon, it'll be too late and I'll never prove anything ... .

They fought their way through thick crowds until they could see the Via Appia where it turned to round the Palatine Hill. In the distance they could hear the sound of flutes and drums.

"Just in time," Malcolm grinned.

Margo craned to see. She was taller than the waiting crowd, which was a novel experience. She could see movement now in the street. Sunlight glittered against gold. The shrill of trumpets and the sharp sound of tympani drums rose above the noise of the crowd. Then she could see individuals. The person in the lead wore a long gown with folds of cloth pulled up like a hood. Under it Margo could see some kind of crown with three separate disks across the brow.

"Is that a priestess?" she asked excitedly.

"No, that's the archgalli -- the High Priest of Attis.

He just arrived in Rome through the new port Claudius is building. He managed to secure permission for this procession, to carry the sacred tree to Cybele's temple."

Margo blinked. "But he's dressed like a woman. I mean, he isn't dressed like any of the other men I've seen so far. Is it because he's a foreigner?"

"No, you were right the first time. Attis priests wore women's clothing. For that matter, so did the priests of Hercules."

Hercules? Mr. Macho himself, the guy with all the muscles who'd done all those impossible labors or whatever they were called? Why would Hercules' priests dress like women? It didn't make any sense. With every maddening snippet of information Malcolm shared, she sensed a vast depth of knowledge he wasn't sharing. She glanced up, wanting to ask, but he was so visibly excited by the procession wending its way toward them she decided to hold her question for later. He darted his gaze eagerly, noting details, even mumbling to himself.

The high priest-archgalli Malcolm had called him,neared their position. He moved slowly, wailing in a shrill voice and weeping while beating himself with a long flail. He held a scepter made of reeds in his other hand. Behind him came sweating bearers with a heavy litter. On it rode the gilded statue of a gorgeous young man in a soft, peaked cap. His "shirt" was open to the groin, leaving his chest and belly bare to well below the navel. His trousers were carved with diamond shaped cutouts like a Harlequin's costume. In one hand he held what looked like a walking cane.

In the other, he held a small tympani drum exactly like the ones carried by wailing priests who trailed behind. They beat their drums with flails, then beat themselves, then sounded the tympanies again. Priests behind them, also wailing at the top of their lungs, carried more of the reed scepters. Behind them came another litter earned by sweating priests. On it was a statue of a tree. Sunstruck pine cones glittered with gold leaf

"A pine tree?" Margo asked doubtfully.

"Shh! Later! Look!"

Margo widened her eyes. "My God..."

Half a dozen men each held thick leather leashes which chained a pair of lions. The huge cats glared at the crowd with hateful amber eyes. Margo clutched Malcolm's arm. "They're not even caged!" The lion handlers were sweating profusely, dragging on the leashes to keep their charges in the center of the street. Behind the stalking lions came another great litter. On it rode a gilded statue of a tall, beautiful woman. She rode a chariot drawn by lions.

"Cybele?" Margo whispered

Malcolm just nodded He was listening to the chanting priests. What were they saying? The crowd took up the chant, too, as the Magna Mater passed regally by Some people tossed coins which weeping priests scooped off the paving stones and drop into little bowls. Behind the gilded image came two priests who led a great black bull with scarlet robes draped across its back. At the rear of the procession came trumpeters, flute players, and a host of young men who stumbled along with glazed eyes, beating themselves with flails and wailing. They carried no reed scepters.

"Who are they?" Margo asked.

"Initiates. They'll dedicate themselves to Attis today. But I rather doubt they'll do it in the traditional Phrygian fashion. Claudius hasn't legalized that."

"They look stoned."

"They probably are."

She stared. "Why?"

"Purification ritual. Come on, if we scramble, I know a way up the hill."

Margo followed his lead as they dodged up the Palatine through narrow alleys that led past the imperial palace toward the crowning Temple of Magna Mater. Crowds had gathered there, too. In a courtyard at the front of the temple they found space to jam themselves close enough to watch. The shrill of flutes, trumpets, and wailing voices drew nearer as the procession wound its way up the far side of the Palatine.

"They're passing through the Forum," Malcolm explained, "down the Sacra Via. Look, here they come."

Margo stood on tiptoe, anxious not to miss anything. What exactly was going on? She didn't know anything about Attis or Cybele-and Malcolm was so caught up in the moment she didn't want to interrupt to ask for explanations. The High Priest arrived first and took a position near a long, deep trench which had been dug in the courtyard. Planks capped it, arranged so that gaps showed. The images of Attis, Cybele, and the pine tree were carried up the steps to the entrance of the temple. The leashed lions snarled at the crowd The roar vibrated against Margo's chest, bringing a prickle of unreasoning terror to the back of her neck.