The River God's Vengeance(73)

“It’s ripe,” the boatman agreed. Neither the smell nor the situation seemed to upset him. “I wish there was money in rat fishing. I’d get my nets out and be a rich man by sunup. It’s certain that there’s no fishing to be done on the river this night or for a good many nights to come.” He shook a couple of rats off his pole to emphasize his point. When he pushed it back in, I could see that the water was no more than knee-deep, but it might as well have been deeper than Oceanus, as far as I was concerned. There was no way I would ever wade through that water.

We poled across the Forum Boarium, now as bereft of occupants as it had been before the Aborigines came to Italy. We drifted past the towering chariot gate end of the Circus, and I decided that some work would be called for before I could hold my races there. The condition of the track would have to be horrendous after this.

Eventually, we nosed ashore at the base of the Aventine. Even before Hermes and I could disembark, a couple rushed down the gentle slope, calling for the boatman to wait. He was in for a busy, profitable night even without any money to be had from rat fishing.

“Take us to the Palatine at once, good man!” said a haughty female, and somewhat familiar, voice. I went impolitely close and stooped, squinting, toward the patrician features beneath the shawl that covered the woman’s head. The light of the boat’s torch and the much smaller one carried by Hermes revealed an unmistakable face, which glared at me like a Gorgon.

“Why, revered Lady Cornelia! I scarcely expected to see you here so late.”

“Why are you here, Aedile Metellus?” she spat out. “No doubt out carousing late as usual, with the City in a state of emergency!”

“The whole City is my concern, and I never rest in the service of Senate and People. I was about to pay a visit to the temple, and who should I find but the lady second in esteem only to the wife of the Flamen Dialis and the Virgo Maxima, accompanied by one of her eunuchs.” But there was no chance I would have mistaken the blocky, shaven head of her companion with its furious face. “Why, excuse me, Marcus Porcius, I thought you were one of the temple drones! Well met, indeed! You are just the man I need to talk to.”

“Metellus,” Cato said, or rather growled, “if you have any ambitions to live until sunrise, you’d better take care!” Cornelia put a hand on his arm, and he quieted like an unruly dog who calms at its master’s touch. This was a night for revelations.

“Decius Caecilius,” Cornelia said, in an entirely new voice, “how may I help you?”

“Oh, as it happens, I can’t go home tonight, and I’m sure all my friends are putting up clients from the lower parts of the City, so I thought I’d just go to the office of the plebeian aediles and curl up in a corner.”

“By no means,” she said. “Just tell the slaves to take you to the guest quarters. They are quite well appointed. Tell the slaves that they must render you every service or risk my severe displeasure.”

“Why, that is most kind of you, my lady. And Cato, I need to confer with you at first light tomorrow.”

“Why should I—”

“It’s about that matter we discussed earlier today.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve learned something, eh?”

“A great deal. You will like this. And there may be some violent action very soon.”

He jerked his blocky head in an emphatic nod. “I’ll be here if I have to swim!”

“You haven’t been out on that water yet. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

I helped Cornelia aboard. “Decius,” she whispered, “you have the reputation of a man who can keep his own counsel. They say that is why Caesar trusts you with important matters. May I also rely on your discretion?”

I placed a hand over my heart. “To the grave, beauteous Cornelia.”

The boatman poled them away toward the Palatine, and I laughed as Hermes and I strolled up toward the lovely temple. “Cato and Cornelia! Who would have imagined it? The most reptilian man in the Senate, and the most fearsome dragon this side of Caesar’s mother! Cato has a human weakness after all!”

“It’s not his only weakness,” Hermes said. “He drinks too much; everyone knows that.”

“That is not a weakness,” I pointed out, “it is a mark of character. Well, I don’t think it makes me like him any more, but perhaps it makes me detest him just a little bit less.” I held my thumb and forefinger a trifiing distance apart to show him just how little that was. We climbed the temple steps. “We’re in luck, Hermes! I had no idea the Temple of Ceres even had guest quarters!”