John Roberts - The River God

I took the time to wonder if what we were eating was the remains of a dinner prepared for the incongruous couple and almost choked on my wine at the thought.

Soon I was replete, and Hermes looked like a calf stunned by the slaughterman’s hammer, reeling where he sat. The hour was late, but I did not feel ready to sleep on the heavily cushioned couch.

“Come, Hermes,” I said, rising. “Let’s get a little air before we turn in.”

“If you say so,” he said, rising. We walked out through the nave, past the statue of the stately, seated goddess. A single slave tended the lamps that burned before the goddess and along the walls, all the rest of the staff having gone back to their beds. We walked out onto the porch and looked out over the City. The sight was breathtaking in the bright moonlight, with water glimmering where ordinarily there would be only murky gloom. On the hills, there burned far more torches than usual, where people had gathered in open places and on rooftops. Looking to the west, the river seemed impossibly wide.

“You think you can get out of this?” Hermes asked as we sat on the top step. He set a pitcher and a pair of cups between us.

“I have to,” I told him. “It’s not only desirable to stay alive, but I have to get this business out of the way quickly. I have far too much work to do, and this is absorbing all of my attention. As soon as it’s light in the morning, I want you to dash to the house with a message for Julia.”

“I’m sure she must be worried about you.”

“Yes, yes, but this is urgent. I want that statue boxed up and out of the City immediately. She’ll have to hire a cart and get it sent to the country estate. It’ll have to be hidden there until all this blows over.”

“Hidden?” he said. “The Venus? Why?”

“Because it’s a bribe.”

“And a handsome one, too. What were you bribed to do?”

“Nothing, Idiot! I’ve never taken a bribe in my life! No large ones, anyway. Not for anything important, at any rate.”

He looked into the bottom of his cup. “The wine must be making me slow. What are you talking about?”

“I should have seen it immediately, but this business of the insula has kept me too distracted. Look, Hermes, I’ve taught you how officeholding works: I can’t be sued or charged with a crime while I hold office, right?”

“I understand that much.”

“But the minute I step down, I can be charged. It’s practically customary. A political opponent, personal enemy, or young lawyer will accuse you of something, and you’ll have to defend yourself. The charges are usually bribery or extortion, but it can be anything. When Caesar was starting out, he charged old Rubirius with a murder committed twenty-?ve years before!” I held out my cup, and Hermes refilled it. “The important thing is, the charge can be completely false. It all depends on how clever and forceful the lawyers are. Evidence is secondary.

“But consider this: Suddenly, I am in possession of a great masterpiece, an original Venus by whatever-his-nameis. This is a treasure I could never afford by myself, even throwing in Julia’s dowry. Where did this thing come from? I would bet on Messala or Scaurus. They’re both rich, and they’ve governed provinces where such items are to be squeezed from the locals.”

“Why a statue?” Hermes wanted to know. “Why not money?”

“Money is easy to hide; it can be explained away; it’s anonymous. But you saw the fuss Julia and Fausta-no, you were on the roof, weren’t you? Well, they were cooing over the thing as if it were a team of first-rank chariot horses. Whoever sent it knew that we’d be showing it off to everyone we know. If it weren’t for this fiood, Julia would already be inviting everyone who counts for anything in Rome to a big party so they could all gawk at it! I’ll be charged with selling out my office, and it will look credible. I know I’d have trouble explaining it.”

“Maybe we should just smash it up and hide the pieces,” Hermes suggested.

“No, Julia would never forgive me. Besides, it’s too valuable. We’ll just send it out to the country estate, hide it in a goatherd’s hut, or something.”

“You’re going to keep it?”

“Of course I’m going to keep it! Do you think I’m a fool? In two or three years, we can take it out and put it in the shrine Julia wants to build for it. All this will have been long forgotten; there will be new scandals and crimes to divert everyone. There’s no dishonor in accepting a bribe that didn’t buy anything.”

“Is that in the law tables?”

“I think so. I’ll look it up. Now get to bed. I want my writing materials ready at first light; I have a letter to write to Caesar. And find out which of the aedilician messengers is the best rider.”

He got to his feet. “I’ll get it done. You’d better get some sleep, too. If tomorrow is going to be as long and exciting as the last few, you’ll need rest.”

“I will be in shortly,” I told him. He nodded and went back into the temple. He really was maturing well and showed a lot of promise for a conniving young thief.

I needed a little time to myself to get my thoughts in order. He was right when he said that I faced a full day on the morrow. I had made light of it, but I fully expected that at least one attempt would be made on my life, perhaps several, and any of them might be successful.

It seemed to me that never before had I been called upon to deal with a problem that arose so suddenly, involved a business of which I was so ignorant and persons with whom I had not the slightest acquaintance. I was used to having my life threatened over politics or wealth or women. Never had I expected to be fighting for my life on account of lumber. Yet this seemingly trivial matter had caused the deaths of hundreds of Romans as surely as if they had been slaughtered by a foreign army. I was a plebeian aedile, and it was my job to see that justice was done and there was no avoiding it.

Satisfied, I got up and followed Hermes back into the temple. Ceres didn’t look as if she cared about my problems, but she wasn’t really a Roman goddess anyway. I might have appealed to Juno or Minerva, but Ceres was from Greece.

I slept very well in her guest chamber.

Even before the sun rose, the morning was one of furious activity.

I was somewhat surprised to see the other aediles arrive in the early gray light, accompanied by their slaves and their crowds of clients. It transpired that almost all parts of Rome were readily accessible if you didn’t mind taking a circuitous route or using a boat. As they gathered, I was sitting at a table outside the temple, scribbling away on my message to Caesar by the light of several lamps I had dragged outside.

Since I was writing to Caesar in his capacity as Pontifex Maximus, arbiter of all matters concerning Roman religious practice, and since I intended for this letter to be read by the Senate and the various priestly colleges, I wrote in a far more formal style than I usually employed. I found it no easy task to remember all those obscure cases and tenses that had been drilled into me as a boy, many of them leftovers from archaic Latin and never used except in religious matters and in certain types of poetry.

When I finished what seemed to me a creditable document, I handed it to my staff of secretaries and ordered them to make copies of it until I ordered them to stop. They had arrived only minutes before, still yawning and scratching.

“Jupiter protect us!” wailed a voice in the dimness. “Metellus is toiling by lamplight! Surely this is an omen sent by the gods!” This was the occasion of much raucous laughter. The speaker was Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, the curule aedile. He walked up to my desk, followed by his own pack of fiunkies.