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.