The day after, we moved in to the new house. It was over in the north-east corner of the city near the Parmenius, the open stream that locals call the Donkey Drowner. Like I said, a nice area, laid out with plush urban villas each set round a pillared courtyard and with a scrap of garden attached that back at Rome wouldn't've fallen far short of a public park; in fact you could've just about fitted one of our Janiculan villas in amongst the rose beds. Forget comfort, as soon as we stepped inside the place I had the definite feeling we'd moved upmarket.
The chief slave met us at the door. He was a local Greek by the name of Critias.
'Welcome, lord and lady,' he said. 'I hope you'll be very happy here.'
'We'll try hard.' While he pocketed the huge tip I gave him to make sure we were, I looked round at the pricey decor. Barring the subject matter, it reminded me of Crispus's club. Inlaid marble by the square yard. Frescoes. Oh, and statues, of course. A good dozen of the buggers, enough bronze wrestlers and river gods to stock a minor square back home. And this was only the hall. 'Hey, Critias. You ever worked for Romans before?'
'No, lord.' He sniffed. 'However, I'm ready to make allowances. Now if you'd care for a tour of the house the main rooms are this way.'
He led off. This bastard would need watching, I could see that already. And the sniff was pure Bathyllus. Next time I saw the little guy I'd have to ask him if they were cousins.
We were up on the first floor inspecting the linen closets when what sounded like a full-scale battle broke out below. Perilla and I looked at each other.
'You got a private arena tucked away downstairs we haven't seen yet, pal?' I asked Critias. 'Or are the Parthians giving us a house warming?'
He never even blinked: Bathyllus again. Maybe it was something dietary. 'Neither, lord. I imagine that will be the two chefs, ours and yours, discussing future menus.'
Hell and bloody damnation. I remembered now, and it was too late. A full complement of staff, Perilla had said. We should've thought of that before we let Meton wander off on his own. I took the stairs at a run, hoping I could get to the kitchen before any serious blood was spilled.
It was a close thing. Arena was right, these guys weren't kidding. I'd seen tamer scraps at the midday Games. Our guy was backed up against the table swinging a chopper while his colleague held his wrist with one hand and throttled the life out of him with the other.
'Hey, Meton,' I said as calmly as I could manage. 'Put the cleaver down, okay? Down! That's the boy. And you, whatever your name is, just slacken off, will you?'
'Lysias!' Critias snapped.
The other chef gave Meton's throat one last squeeze before reluctantly taking his hand away.
'That's better,' I said. 'Now listen. I know two chefs in one kitchen isn't such a hot idea but you'll just have to come to some arrangement. You think that's remotely possible?' They glared at each other. Yeah, well, maybe it wasn't, but that was hard luck on them. Stray ears in the soufflé I could do without. 'Because if you don't, sunshines, we'll call in an outside caterer now and you can spend your time boiling barley mash for the horses in the stables. Eating it, too. You get me?'
I left them to it without waiting for an answer. Perilla was waiting in the hall, examining the statues.
'Staff problems already?' she said.
'It's no joke, lady. We nearly had one blue chef and two halves in there. Critias.' He'd followed me out. 'You keep an eye on these two bastards, right? The first one to use a filleting knife on anything other than a chicken is cold meat.'
'Yes, lord.' The guy was grinning like a drain. Gods! Was I the only sane person around here? 'Incidentally, one of the lord Vibius Marsus's slaves brought a message earlier. He would be delighted if you would drop in for dinner tonight if it isn't too short notice. Sundown would be convenient.'
'Hey, great!'
'May I send a message to that effect, lord? It may also ameliorate the kitchen situation a little. Temporarily.'
'You do that.'
'And then perhaps you'll wish an early lunch. I will inform the chef. Chefs.' He paused. 'Lamb chops and a cold tongue, perhaps.'
Oh, ha ha. Bathyllus's cousin, for sure. Perilla giggled, and I glared at her.
'Look, sunshine,’ I said. ‘Just do your job and leave out the gags, okay?'
'Yes, lord.'
This place was going to be fun. Oh, sure. I could tell that now.
Vibius Marsus was a lot younger than I thought he'd be; a fit man in his late thirties with a nose like the business end of a battleship. When the slave showed us into the dining room he bounced up from his couch like someone had wired him with springs.
'Valerius Corvinus! Come in, my dear fellow!' he cried. 'Delighted to see you! No, you take the chief guest couch, we're on our own this evening, strictly family. This is my wife Sulpicia.'
They could've been brother and sister. If anything, Sulpicia's nose had the edge. When they kissed it must've been like a refight of Actium.
'Pleased to meet you, Valerius Corvinus.' I got a smile like a well-bred parrot's. 'Welcome to Antioch.'
'And this must be Perilla!' Marsus was beaming. 'Good grief, you have changed, haven't you? You're quite…ah…' He paused.
'Yeah, she is, isn't she?' I said. 'Very.'
'Sit down and behave yourself, Publius,' Sulpicia murmured. I grinned, and so did Perilla. 'Simeon, serve the wine, please.'
The slave took the jug from its cooler. Marsus was still gripping Perilla's shoulders like an absent-minded octopus. 'How long has it been, my dear?’ he said. ‘Fourteen years? Fifteen?'
'Longer. It was just before Stepfather was exiled. I was seven. I didn't think you'd remember.'
'Nonsense! Of course I do!' He gave her one last hug before stretching out next to his wife. 'Sulpicia, don't fuss! Sit down, Perilla. How's your mother?'
'Not well,' Perilla said gently, taking the other half of my couch.
'Ah. I'm sorry.' Marsus didn't pursue the matter: maybe he knew about Fabia Camilla, or maybe he was just responding to the tone. 'Corvinus, your glass. Make sure we've all got some wine, Simeon, and then bring in the starters. Come on, boy, stir yourself!'
They were glasses, not as good as Lamia's but still lovely work. I held mine up for the guy to fill just so I could see the wine shining in the lamplight. I'd have to find a dozen of these to bring back before we left. Certainly there was nothing in Rome to touch them. All they needed to set them off was a good Falernian.
'And how are you enjoying Antioch?' Sulpicia's look took in both of us.
'It's wonderful,' Perilla said.
'You've been up to Daphne?'
'Yes. We went yesterday.'
'A lovely town.' Marsus nodded. 'Mind you, I can't stand sightseeing myself, Once you've seen one statue you've seen them all. Sulpicia dragged me round when we first arrived but now I can't be bothered. You look as if you agree, Corvinus.'
'Yeah.' I was beginning to like the guy. His wine was good, too, although I couldn't place it. Cypriot, maybe; I wasn't too well up on white Cypriot. 'You know how many statues there are in Daphne, sir?'
'Three hundred and twenty-six,' Marsus said promptly. 'You counted them too?'
'Yeah.'
We laughed. The slaves brought in the appetisers: a big plate of steamed shellfish, little rissoles, cold beans with fennel and the usual olives and raw vegetables with fish pickle dip.
'And how is your new house?' Sulpicia selected a rissole. 'It belongs to old Athenodorus, doesn't it?'