“You will not speak of Beatrice in such disrespect!”
“You will not deal with our eternity in such disrespect!” Hatshepsut said, descending a step also to lean very close to Dante. “The asp of the earth and the vulture of the sky are mine, the crook that rescues and the flail that beats out the grain in judgment! I am the Osiris and the Ra Ascended! I am Isis and Sekhmet, and I rule on the spiritual Nile. Yet I have preferred this house to the Fields of the Blessed – for its knowledge, its seeking after new things, its gathering of minds and its vantage on eternity. I have gained things here that I will not give up, not for all the honors that would be mine if I were willing to go to the Eternal Fields. Oh, you want hell, son of Thoth – try an afterlife of no change, never change, not a day different than any other, for all eternity! I refuse to go back to it – but that is what you threaten! If you bring the eyes of Erra on this place, he will know it is a hotbed of things out of place, and enjoyment, and anticipation, which are not a part of hell outside these walls! Appreciate what you have, scribe! And respect the house of our host! We have enough trouble with Tiberius, who is mad enough to think he can win in this court! But you, you, poet, I have thought you were wiser than that. What use is a poet if he is not wise?”
Dante had begun to wilt, in Sargon’s grip. And now he began to shake his head. “Beatrice,” he moaned. “Beatrice. Beatrice!”
“Hopeless,” Sargon said. “We cannot let the scribbler loose until this is resolved. We cannot have him wandering about with his ‘Beatrice’ and his petitions.”
“We have the basement,” Niccolo said. “He will be happy with the library and the books.”
“You cannot lock me up!” Dante cried. “I shall never forgive you! Never!”
“For his own good,” Hatshepsut said, and bent and picked up a book, as Sargon picked up Dante and marched him downstairs.
Niccolo arranged his cuffs and raked a hand through his hair and tried to compose himself, trying not to think what could happen if Sargon’s hell descended on the villa.
He picked up a couple of books himself, and heard Dante still shouting about Beatrice as a door shut, below.
Dante was going to be very upset with them, but not half as upset as he would be if he got what he wanted to petition for.
Boom! From outside.
The Cong might be coming back through. Or might take another route. He hoped so.
Dante was still screaming, distantly. A door thumped shut. Niccolo looked up, about to go back to the main floor.
And looked up at a scowling Augustus.
“Signore,” Niccolo said, dismayed.
“What is that?” Augustus asked.
“Dante, signore.” Deep breath. “He thinks to petition the court for a new hearing….”
“Di immortales,” Augustus breathed, gone a shade paler. “And the garden? The garden, Niccolo?”
The booming was still going on outside. The shouting from inside.
“I shall go see,” Niccolo said, and added: “If the German Guard could be set to guard the stairs, signore…”
“A good idea,” Augustus agreed.
“Auguste!” One of the servants came running up. “A car. A taxi in the driveway.”
“Damn!” Augustus said. “Damn!” And left.
It was by no means certain there would be any of the German Guard showing up. And it was too late for the rose garden. A car in the driveway?
It likely was the great man himself. And Niccolo was not about to leave the stairs unguarded, even with Hatshepsut and Sargon attending arrangements below. He liked his arrangement with the Romans. He liked being here and not in Cesare Borgia’s basement. He had come here after his initial trip back to Slab One, had reincarnated and gotten shipped here, and he existed in mortal terror on every trip back – every time he died in hell – that some clerk in Infernal Records would realize that someone had gotten Cesare crossed with Caesar and dropped him into the Roman paradise.
Oh, he did not want that mistake reviewed. And the Audit that might send the Roman paradise to a nether hell was terrifying. Personally terrifying.
Hell if he was going to let a love-besotted poet end his residency here.
There was nothing for it. Julius had that figured. The old man was Republican, give or take his penchant for honors, public acclaim, and being important, and staying decently in the house and letting servants bring the visitor to him and Augustus just wasn’t going to set the right tone.
The personal touch. There was a lot of water under the bridge with them – from pristine and sweet to not-so-good water under the bridge. But he’d done the man favors. He’d saved his damned life. Never mind the likelihood the conspirators that had assassinated him had probably approached Cicero and Cicero hadn’t warned him. He’d forgiven Brutus. For Brutus’ sake – and Caesarion’s – and the safety of the household, he could damned well forgive Cicero.
The old man, toga-clad, meticulously coiffed, in the spitting rain, was paying off the taxi – and arranging a stand-wait, apparently, since the cabby nodded several times.
Damn! There was that tower in Decentral Park, big metal thing, like a girder, straight up.
But it was closer now. Right across the street. Hell of an eyesore. And gods knew what it did.
Phone public works and ask? They weren’t phoning anybody official until the Audit was out of here.
“Cicero, my old friend,” he called across the drive, as Cicero still admonished the unfortunate cabbie. “I’m sure he understands.” Best classical form. “Please, come inside!”
“Here!” Cicero said, stabbing a finger at the driveway. “Do not budge! Intelligisne?”
“Si, signore,” the driver said, and Cicero edged away with a second stay gesture.
“Please,” Julius said with an inviting sweep of his arm.
“You seem well-adapted to this place,” Cicero said, casting a jaundiced look at Julius. “I suppose that Octavianus is the same.”
“Well, well,” Julius said, waving the old man inside the foyer. “We do get along, but mentally, sir, mentally, we keep the old ways. Please. Come out to the back. We have everything arranged.” The old man didn’t hold with electric lights, didn’t accept this or that invention, and the taxi was a major concession. The Republicans could be like that.