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Oracle of the Dead(11)

By:John Maddox Roberts


There were others, but I have forgotten their names. The banquet was arranged in the Roman fashion, but the Campanians of that time did not always observe the Roman custom of no more than nine diners at any one dinner. For one thing, they thought it unworthy of a rich man to entertain so few guests. In time, Julia arrived and we were conducted to the table. As ranking magistrate, I had the place of honor at the right end of the center couch. Our sandals were removed by servants and our feet sprinkled with perfume. Garlands were distributed and we were ready to get down to business. Before the first course was brought in, our host made an announcement.

“My friends, today we shall observe the ancient custom of the district: before we begin, we must appoint a Master of Ceremonies, to set the order of the banquet, to mix the wine and water, and to determine the direction of dinner conversation. I nominate our most distinguished guest, the Praetor Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger.” There was much applause and cheering. This was another Campanian oddity. Ordinarily, a Master of Ceremonies was appointed for the Greek symposium, the after-dinner party when the women had withdrawn and the men got down to the serious business of drinking.

“My host and friends, I thank you for the honor, but I confess I am unsuited for such an office,” I said firmly. “The Master of Ceremonies should not be chosen for official dignity, but for taste, elegance, and wit. I propose our renowned playwright, Pedianus.” All agreed that this was an excellent choice. Personally, I intended to be far too inebriated by the end of the banquet to direct much of anything. Let the boy try to keep his wits about him while the wine flowed as it does only in Campanian revelries.

A servant placed a wreath of ivy on the young man’s head and another draped a purple mantle over his shoulders. A third placed an ivywreathed wand in his hand. He stood and declaimed, “My host, great Praetor, honored guests, you do me honor, and I shall in return strive to provide you with an agreeable evening. These rules I decree: One, while guests may be served in order of rank and distinction, there shall be no difference in the quality of the items presented.” Everyone agreed that this was an excellent rule. “Two, the wine shall be mixed at one measure of water to two of wine.” He caught my look. “Make that one measure of water to three of wine.” That was still too much water for my taste, but anything stronger would be considered scandalous. “Three, I forbid all discussion of serious matters. I will hear no debate about Caesar and Pompey. The measures of the Tribune Curio shall not be breathed.”

“What about the murder of the priest Eugaeon?” somebody asked.

He grinned. “That’s not serious. That is gossip. We must have gossip.” Amid much laughter he gestured grandly and the first course was brought in. It was the customary egg course, with the eggs dyed in astonishing colors and painted in fanciful patterns. Some were encased in gold leaf hammered to an incredible thinness. We were supposed to eat these, gold and all. Some were still in their shells, and when cracked open these proved to contain the sort of party favors esteemed by wealthy hosts: perfumes, pearls, gems, golden chains, and so forth. While the ladies made delighted sounds I tried to figure out how they had gotten those items inside the shells, but to no avail. I could see no hole or seam in the complete shells. Maybe, I thought, they just fed the things to the chickens and ducks and this was the result.

More substantial courses followed, each accompanied by the appropriate wines, all of which were uniformly excellent. Between courses we had entertainment, their order directed by Pedianus. There were reciters of poems and dancers, jugglers and tightrope walkers, even an astonishing woman who balanced on her hands while using her feet to shoot a bow and arrow with great accuracy.

In past generations, it had been a custom in Campania to have gladiators fight at banquets. In some houses, this was still done. But I have never felt that blood goes well with food. The munera form the proper venue for such carnage. Thankfully, our host seemed to agree.

For a while we spoke of this and that, the upcoming races, events overseas, the latest omens, and so forth. Julia got the fashionably ragged local philosopher Gitiadas to expound upon a theory that the world is round like a ball, which would have been rather interesting had it not been so absurd. He said something about the circular shadow cast upon the moon during a lunar eclipse, which made no sense whatever.

“Praetor,” said the abundantly endowed Porcia, “are you making any progress on the murder of the priest?” She popped a honeyed fig into her mouth, making her multiple chins jiggle.

“I confess it is perplexing,” I told her. “The priest is dead, the other priests have disappeared, and the devotees of Hecate either cannot or will not help. My biggest headache is figuring out how he got into the river in the first place.”