The Temple of the Muses(35)

Berenice gushed the usual welcomes and compliments and urged us to loosen up and have a good time, something I was quite prepared to do. Instead of tables where guests could recline to eat, there were small tables everywhere heaped with rare delicacies. Slaves carried pitchers of wine and everyone stood or wandered about, eating, drinking and talking as long as they could remain upright. Besides the human servants, there were more of the liveried baboons. They were not very efficient as servers, but they were better behaved than many of the guests.

I wanted to speak with Berenice, but the big cats she led made me nervous. I knew that these tame cheetahs behaved like hunting dogs, but somehow they looked unnatural on leashes. So I left Julia and Fausta with the princess and made my way into the palace. It had all the marks of a long evening, so there was no rush about cornering the woman.

I had never been to the Island Palace before, and found it very much to my taste. The proportions were almost Roman in their acknowledgment of human stature. The rooms were not vast echoing halls, and their decoration was calculated to enhance rather than to overwhelm.

The same could not be said of the guests and the entertainment. In an open court was a pool in which a muscular youth wrestled with a medium-sized crocodile, splashing the guests almost as copiously as the pair of hippos who shared the water. Some guests, overcome with excitement, leapt into the pool and disported themselves after the fashion of naiads, diving beneath the surface and coming up to spout water on unsuspecting passersby. I watched for a while, hoping that the wrestler would lose his hold and the crocodile make a lunge for the naiads. That would have been even more exciting. However, the youth trussed up the reptile with cords and carried it off amid much applause.

In another courtyard a team of Cretan dancers, elaborately costumed, went through one of their famed productions concerning the scabrous doings of the Olympian deities, with startling realism. I climbed to a second-floor gallery for a better view. Below, on an elaborate stage, were being enacted the legends of Leda and the swan, Europa and the bull, Ganymede and the eagle, Danae and the shower of gold (an incredible piece of costuming), Pasiphae inside the artificial cow designed by Daedalus, and a few probably known only to Greeks. I managed to tear my eyes away from this edification long enough to notice that I wasn’t alone. A girl of about ten leaned on the railing and watched all this with solemn interest.

She was a beautiful child, with skin like alabaster and the reddish hair that is common among Macedonians. Her garments and jewels were rich. Clearly, this was a daughter of a noble family, strayed from her keeper.

“Aren’t you a little young for this sort of entertainment?” I asked. “Where is your nurse?” She turned and regarded me with enormous green eyes. They were the most beautiful eyes I ever saw in a human face.

“My sister says that I must learn how the noble peoples of many lands comport themselves. I have been attending these receptions of hers for some time now.” Her speech was not the least bit childish.

“I take it, then, that you are the Princess Cleopatra?” She nodded, then turned back to the spectacle below.

“Do people really behave this way?” On the stage, something that looked like a dragon was mounting Andromeda, who was chained to a rock. I didn’t remember that part of the legend of Perseus.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with the doings of supernatural beings,” I advised her. “You’ll find that what goes on between men and women is quite confusing enough.” She turned from the dancers and looked me over with a calculation disturbing to see in one so young.

“You’re a Roman, aren’t you?” she said in excellent Latin.

“I am. Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, Senator, presently attached to the embassy, at your service.” I gave her the slight bow Roman officials are permitted.

“I never heard the name Decius used as a praenomen. I thought it was a nomen.” She was inordinately well taught.

“It was introduced into my family by my grandfather, who was sent a vision by the Dioscuri.”

“I see. I have never been granted a vision. My sister sees them all the time.” I could well believe that.

“Your Latin is excellent, Princess. Do you speak other languages?”

“Besides Latin and Greek, I speak Aramaic, Persian and Phoenician. What is it like, being a Roman?” This was an odd question.

“I am not sure I understand, Princess.”

“You rule the world. The Roman officials I’ve seen comport themselves as arrogantly as the kings of most lands. Does it feel different, knowing that the world lies at your feet?” I had never been asked such a question by a ten-year-old.