The River God's Vengeance(79)

“They’ll be in a mood to toss some of their colleagues to the wolves,” he agreed.

“The tribunes will all be there. I want you to talk to them. Get them to convene a meeting of the Plebeian Assembly. I want you to harangue the Assembly and get them to vote me the power to levy all the labor, resources, and money I need to thoroughly cleanse every inch of the drainage system. And I want it paid for out of the public treasury. And I want a permanent commission appointed for the purpose of disaster relief, with resources to supply temporary shelter and rationing for displaced persons.” Suddenly my mind was buzzing with ideas. “One of the priestly colleges or brotherhoods could be given that job. Politicians and magistrates come and go yearly, but the priesthoods last forever.”

“I will do it.” He was looking at me with an expression I’d never expected to see on his face: respect. “Decius Caecilius, you are going to have the most eventful aedileship in recent memory, if you can survive it.” He wheeled and strode away, barking orders at his followers like a general preparing for battle. In a way, that was what he was doing.

For a few minutes the other aediles crowded around me, wanting to know what was going on. Suddenly and unexpectedly, it seemed that they were looking to me for leadership. I didn’t waste the opportunity. I snatched a piece of papyrus from a scribe and scrawled a crude map of my beloved, beautiful, awful old City. This I divided into sections, giving each aedile one to subdivide among his helpers. I saw Acilius standing by with his men and ordered him to provide a detailed report on the condition of every cloaca, tributary sewer, and drain hole in the City and have it ready by afternoon.

The State freedman smiled and gestured to one of his slaves. The man withdrew from his satchel a thick scroll, which Acilius presented to me. “What do you think I have been doing these last two years?”

“You see?” I cried, loud as Cato. “Somebody here has been doing his duty! I charge you all to go and do the same! Meet me on the terrace before the Temple of Jupiter one hour before sundown and have your reports ready!”

“At once, Aedile!” they chorussed, dashing off to do something useful, instead of fretting endlessly over actors and chariot races and public banquets.

I stood there for a while, savoring the moment. I felt better than a general with six victorious legions out killing barbarians.

A few minutes later, Hermes arrived, puffing and sweating like an Olympic runner.

“We got it boxed up,” he panted, when he had breath. “Old Burrus is escorting it out to the country estate, says he’ll see it stowed away, and nobody will get a look at it.”

He sat down, and while he caught his breath, I told him about the statue’s provenance. “It was Scaurus’s safety precaution,” I said. “He wanted to make me look like one crook accusing another. It could have worked, too.”

“Tell me something,” Hermes said. “Why did they kill Folius and his wife? They were all together in it, weren’t they? Living in each other’s money chests, doing the trade in trashy building materials, all of them making each other richer than they were already—who turned on Folius and why? It’s where all this started, as far as we’re concerned, with that insula coming down and us finding the two of them under it all. They were doing so well. How did they fall out?”

The temple slaves were bringing out breakfast unasked. They laid out bread and honey and sliced fruit on the table, along with watered wine. I sat and gestured to Hermes to sit with me.

“That is a very astute question.” Somehow I knew that this was the right time to broach the most delicate subject that lay between us. “Hermes, someday soon I will grant you your freedom. Instead of master and slave, we will be patron and client. You will have every right and privilege of citizenship except that of holding office.”

He covered his astonishment by gulping some wine and smearing a cake with honey. “I always expected that, someday.”

“These last few days you have pleased me greatly. I intend to keep you close to me in future years as I rise in office. If you will live up to the promise you have shown lately, you can look forward to becoming one of the great men of the Republic.”

Now he was truly embarrassed. “I never—I mean, I—”

“You know Tiro, who was once Cicero’s slave and is now a freedman. Senators and foreign kings court him. That could be you. Anyway, I tell you this by way of warning. Keep this up, but conduct yourself prudently. Too many men use their servile origin as an excuse to be worthless. Watch, listen, think, and act wisely. You may have a distinguished future ahead of you.”