The River God's Vengeance(10)

Ceres is an imported Greek goddess, and therefore her worship is in the Greek fashion, overseen by patrician women, unlike the native Roman deities whose priests are all male. The high priestess at that time was a formidable Cornelia, a close kinswoman of the Dictator Sulla and as high-handed as most members of that family. She was waiting for me when I arrived.

“Aedile!” She stalked down the steps of the lovely tem ple and I could almost see thunderclouds gathering around her head. “Explain this outrage!” She pointed to the great heap of timber piled helter-skelter upon the pavement of the courtyard.

“And good morning to you, revered Cornelia,” I said. “Allow me to note that you are especially lovely today.”

“Don’t try to distract me. The aediles have their offices in the basement of the temple, not in the courtyard! Remove this trash at once!”

“Lovely, gracious Cornelia, this is evidence in an investigation into gross negligence in the building trades. If Rome had such a thing as a municipal wood yard, I would certainly send this evidence there. Alas, there is none. Someone must be prosecuted for using unfit timber for these— these—I think they are called ‘joists.’ And to do this, I must have the evidence, and this is the only place I have to store it. I promise it will only be for a few more days.” I gave her a conciliatory smile, to which she replied with a most unconciliatory glare. Cornelians were notoriously averse to being crossed in any way.

“In ten days,” she said, “we begin rehearsing for the Cerialia. If the wood is not gone by that time, it will make you an excellent funeral pyre.”

“You are too kind, splendid Cornelia,” I assured her.

“Too kind by half. I want every termite-chewed splinter of that heap off the courtyard and the fiagstones swept before we begin rehearsal or I will speak to the wife of the Pontifex Maximus and have you impeached before the Senate the minute you step down from office, do you understand?”

“Perfectly, glorious and pulchritudinous—” but she had already whirled about and stalked back up the steps, surrounded by a cloud of twittery eunuchs. Impeach me, would she? By law, the eunuchs were one part of the Ceres cult forbidden in Rome, and part of my job was to purge the City of degenerate, foreign religious practices. We’d just see about that. The Cerialia, the great annual festival of Ceres, would be just the occasion to confront her with it, too.

“Termite-chewed?” Hermes said. “I didn’t see any termite damage in the basement.”

“We never got a good look at the timber. Perhaps she spoke metaphorically. Go get some of the office slaves and go over every piece of wood in the pile. Mark the ones that look especially unfit. I have other duties to attend to for a while.”

He went off in search of some help as I walked toward the little terrace where the plebeian aediles conducted business in good weather. Other duties indeed. The insula disaster had cost me a full day I could ill afford to spare in the busiest of all Roman magistracies. Even as I drew near the terrace, I saw the mob of citizens, each of them with a demand that fell beneath the purview of my office.

Besides supervising compliance with the building codes, the aediles were in charge of the streets, drains, and sewers; upkeep of the City streets and public buildings; putting on the public Games; and the aforementioned oversight of foreign cults. Since the State funds allowed for these activities hadn’t changed since the days of Tarquin the Proud, the aediles had to pay for much of this work out of their own purses. No wonder so many men spent the rest of their careers using the higher offices to enrich themselves after the expenses they had incurred as aediles.

“Aedile!” chorused a small crowd of men, detaching themselves from the larger crowd of petitioners. These were my clients, who on most days called on me at my home at first light. They now had standing instructions to meet me at the temple except on days when official business was forbidden. This was the year when my clients earned their keep. Ordinarily I sent them home with gifts and thanks except when I needed a cheering section in the Forum, but not this year. This year I needed assistants, and the State wasn’t going to give me any.

Burrus strode importantly forward. He was my senior client, a retired soldier from my old legion in Spain. “Aedile, the supervisor of drains and sewers wants your attention, and he says this won’t wait.”

“They all say that.” I sighed, knowing full well what the complaint would be. “Let’s hear him.”

The man came forward, a freedman named Acilius, followed by a small group of freedmen who likewise served the City. All wore the harried look of such functionaries. It is a thing practiced even by those with no work to do at all. Perhaps those wear the most harried looks.