They were turning a corner again and bumped into a big boat full of "guardie," the semi-military police who were responsible for the order of the city. The leader hailed them joyfully and at once attached them to his force for the rest of the day, a day of uncommonly hard work for the easy-going young men.
A strange sight met their eyes when they reached Piazza Navona. In spite of yesterday's warnings, flower sellers, fruit vendors, dealers in secondhand wares of every kind had installed themselves at break of day in their usual spots; and when, a few hours later, the sewers had suddenly gushed with improvised torrents, the unwary market people had lost their heads, and, unfortunately, a good deal of their property. The pyramid of huge water-melons piled round the base of the central obelisk now rose like a green island in a muddy sea. The two rococo fountains, fed from far away in the country through uncontaminated conduits, tossed their spray into the air and flung down sheets of pure crystal to meet the turbid, evil-smelling contributions which had submerged their basins; Bernini's grotesque Tritons grinned fixedly on the ever increasing disaster below them; and the long florid porch of the church of Sant' Agnese, raised on its marble steps above the danger level, was covered from end to end with salvage over which the owners were weeping and wringing their hands. One old crone stood leaning far out, fishing valiantly with her umbrella for a basket of lace which wobbled round just out of reach, its bundles of heavy, handmade edgings unrolling on the wavelets, while a bit of priceless old Venetian—such as collectors would love and the uninitiated regard as a rag—was twisting itself round the loosening laths of a towel-horse which had been its neighbor on the paving stones. Old books and engravings, prints of saints in prayer and goddesses in flirtation, danced along shoulder to shoulder with plucked chickens and bobbing lemons; some urchins on the church steps were daring each other to wade after the spoils of the frying stall, which still wafted entrancing odors of hot oil to their discriminating little noses.
After the first stress had been relieved Peppino and his comrades, known as they were for expert watermen, were told off to go through the lowlying streets nearest the river, where the inhabitants, driven, some hours earlier, from the ground floors to upper stories, might be in need of supplies. Well loaded with provisions they set out, stopping below the windows whence they were hailed, and sending up rations in the baskets which came swinging down on strings, the coppers for the food rattling inside them. Women called out, entreating the rescuers to go and look for missing men of the family; but there was no delaying for these appeals, and each and all received the truly Roman answer, "He is safe, we have just seen him." That not one of the party knew the name or face of the absent one made no difference at all. No loss of life had been reported or was likely to be, so the statement as to safety would probably be justified, while as to the other—well, distressed females must be pacified, and a good common-sense lie was the only practical means of doing that.
There were other calls, however, which were instantly responded to. In one house there was sudden sickness; a terrified woman screamed to the men, and Rinaldo caught the word "Miserere," the synonym for the fruit season scourge which slays in twelve hours. With all their might they pulled for the nearest apothecary, threatened him with instant death if he did not find his remedies in the twinkling of an eye, and then laid violent hands on him and bore him back to the stricken house, where they left him, disregarding his crazed entreaties that they would wait and take him home again.
Then came a still more urgent call; a woman was dying and wanted the priest. Noting the street and number they promised the scared relatives to bring one. Pausing for a moment they consulted as to the position of the nearest. Peppino remembered his topography while the others were still looking round them, and issued his orders. Some ten minutes later the crew pulled up before the front steps of San Severino, and agile Peppino bounded up them, three at a time, to summon the sacristan. Rinaldo was tired of sitting on the narrow thwart, and he too sprang out and stood on the steps, holding the boat with the boathook. All was so changed by the strange aspect of the flood that he at first failed to recognize the spot. His acquaintance with his parish church had been chiefly carried on through the back entrance, but as he stood looking up at the sky, which was clearing now, with sulky shafts from the low sun tearing red rifts in the inky clouds, a sense of familiarity came over him. Baring his heated brow he looked up, down, around. Why, of course, it was Giannella's church, and Giannella herself was only a few hundred yards away, waiting, with that adorable anxiety for him still in her eyes; weeping, perhaps, in her fear lest harm had come to him. He must get to her somehow, and tell her that he had not forgotten her for a moment (a brazen untruth, but how could any woman understand that even the most faithful masculine heart has no room for sentiment in the midst of action?), but that every oar and every pair of hands had been urgently needed throughout that long trying day. How glad she would be to see him. Though of course she would pretend to be still concerned about that animal, Bianchi, of whose society the Cardinal must be horribly tired by this time if he had not managed to ship him home already. There had not been a moment in which to attend to him, but Rinaldo felt that he could not go back to Giannella without having called at Palazzo Cestaldini at least: well, the day was drawing in, the boys were all tired and hungry; they must quit work soon. After this expedition with the priest, he himself would be free to go and execute the belated commission.
Ah, here he came, the good Father, reverently carrying the veiled chalice, accompanied by a frightened acolyte with a lighted taper, and Fra Tommaso, looking very serious and having much ado to hold up the umbrella canopy and not slip on the wet steps. As they approached, Rinaldo knelt with bared head; then he was on his feet, helping the priest to bestow himself and his precious burden safely. The sacristan knelt in the boat behind him, still sheltering him with the canopy, and the boy climbed in, grinning and delighted now with the novelty of the situation.
It made an impressive picture as the young men, bare-headed and silent, rowed fast down the yellow waterway, where the wavelets were crested with bronze gold in the low rays of the sunset. The priest, looking neither to right nor left, was praying in whispers, Fra Tommaso's deep tones striking in with Amens and responses; the lurid sunbeams glowed on his tonsured head, on the gold fringes of the canopy, on the young men's faces stilled to worship by the careful honor of their mission. It was not far to the house of death, a mean, discolored building in a narrow alley, where pale watchers looking out from the doorway told them they were still wanted, still in time.
The neighbors gathered at their windows, sympathetic and curious. Two or three women lighted candles and held them out in honor of the Santissimo. Then the rowers waited in silence for some twenty minutes, after which the padre reappeared, wrapped and prayerful as before, and he and his attendants were conveyed home.
"Now for supper," exclaimed Peppino. "I die of hunger."
"One moment," said Rinaldo. "We are close to Palazzo Cestaldini, I would just like to make an inquiry there."