Felix, flattered but sensing that he was being mocked, pushed aside the table and lunged after him, snatching a handful of nuts and holding them triumphantly. There were more cheers, and then the acrobat straightened his limbs and danced provocatively away, to tumultuous applause. In the centre of the room he flicked the bowl upwards with his feet, twisted himself upright and caught the bowl again, all in one fluid movement. The audience went wild with frenzy.
The acrobat turned back, to bow towards the top table. . and stopped. Something was happening to Felix. He appeared to be choking. He was leaning on the end of the dining couch clutching his throat, coughing, gasping, spluttering, his face scarlet and his eyes bulging. Presumably he had swallowed one of the nuts. With all eyes on the performance no one had noticed his predicament.
Even now there was a moment of horrified inaction, and then, suddenly, everything was happening at once. Egobarbus, or whoever he was, strode over and began to thump Felix helpfully on the back. Slaves rushed forward with goblets of water and wine, someone else tried to force a piece of dry bread into his mouth. Even old Gaius reached into the recesses of his toga and offered a phial of a dubious-looking substance which he insisted was a specific against all ills, and had once saved his best bitch in similar circumstances. Only Marcus did not move. He stayed, reclining where he was, watching with a kind of horrified fascination while all around him surged forward with a dozen suggested remedies.
Felix, waving his hands helplessly, at first attempted to fight them off, but he was still spluttering and coughing and in the end, eyes streaming, he submitted to their attentions.
In vain. A crisis seemed to grip him. Gagging, gurgling, he clawed at the air a moment and then, with a terrible gasping groan, he pitched head forward onto the table, scattering everything to the floor. Meat, wine, water, dates and fragments of shattered bowls and pitchers joined the gnawed bones and debris already littering the tiles.
There was a terrified pause and then a dozen slaves rushed forward to lift the inert body to the dining couch. Someone suggested fetching their private physician, or the military doctor from the barracks. But we hardly needed the doctor to tell us what everyone in the room was aware of.
Perennis Felix was dead.
Chapter Six
Everyone reacted in different ways, as people do in a crisis.
Serving slaves froze where they stood, waiting for instructions. Guests withdrew into corners and whispered, or jostled forward to stare. No one doubted what had happened. The memory of that herald’s shattered body in the forum was uppermost in everybody’s mind and on everyone’s lips. The souls of the unburied dead are notoriously vindictive.
Of course, that did not make this event seem any the less disturbing. Rather more so, if anything. The idea of an unseen vengeful spirit in our midst was decidedly discomfiting.
Some men, particularly those with little influence but a lively instinct for safety, attempted to put as much distance as possible between themselves and possible reprisals — human or supernatural — by loudly offering to go for help and dashing to the door. I might have attempted an exit myself, but I knew that it was hopeless. I had come with Marcus and there was no possible chance of pretending that I had been somewhere else all evening, and bribing a dozen witnesses to prove it, as some of the others would surely do. In any case the door-keeper, alerted by the sudden panicky exodus, realised that something unfortunate had happened and turned most of them back.
The remaining dignitaries eyed each other doubtfully. Fortunately all the senior civil and judicial authorities of the town were present, so there was no possibility of one group being less politically implicated than another. And there were political implications. The death of the guest of honour at a banquet is always an embarrassment, but even supernatural visitations were downright unwise when they caused an accident like this to a visiting favourite of the Emperor’s, especially at a civil banquet in a province already suspected of being rebellious. Little knots of magistrates huddled together, muttering in low voices. Some gulped at their wine dazedly. One could see why.
A dozen muted arguments broke out, but as tempers frayed with anxiety voices became shrill and raised. The topics seemed to be the same — what to do next, who should do it, and exactly which kind of funeral rites would be appropriate. Clearly no one wished to take responsibility (since, if the Emperor ever made enquiries, a wrong decision was likely to be much more dangerous than no decision at all) but everyone had an opinion. Some urged caution and delay, or even sending to the governor for advice, as though time would somehow soften the enormity of the event. Others seemed to feel the need for immediate action and were loudly demanding sacred herbs from the garden, calling for blankets from their litters, or sending bemused servants in all directions with contradictory messages.
The poor acrobat, obviously terrified at the outcome of his performance, had edged the nut bowl surreptitiously onto a table, and tried to slide unnoticed back into the corner with the rest of the entertainers. The nubile dancing girl burst into tears and the musicians began whispering together, patting her on the arm and nodding knowingly towards Gaius as owner of the house.
Gaius saw them. The danger of the situation was not lost upon him. He buried his head in his hands and let out a howl that would not have disgraced one of his dogs. Not surprisingly. The accident had occurred in his house. At the very least he would be personally responsible for the costly and time-consuming rituals of purification and mourning. At worst. . well, choking on a nut might be an accident, or vengeance from the dead, but Commodus was not noted for either his leniency or his logic.
As if summoned by the howl, two slaves came out of the kitchens with a salver of sugared fruits. News had evidently not spread to the neither regions, but when they saw what was happening they bolted back again, leaving the door open. Gaius’s dogs, taking advantage of the moment, bounded in and added to the confusion by rushing around the room yapping and barking, leaping up on their master and lapping up the food under the tables. One of them, horrifyingly, began sniffing at the corpse.
It was at that point that Marcus finally took command. Whatever else, such indignity could not be tolerated. He strode over to the couch and pulled the dog away. At the same time he signalled to the musicians. The drums sounded and the lute-players touched their strings. Instantly the hubbub ceased and everyone looked towards Marcus. There was an almost visible ripple of relief. He was the most influential man present, and by stepping forward he had relieved others of the responsibility.
‘Citizens! This is a most unfortunate accident. Naturally, you are disturbed. But at all costs let us preserve decorum. Gaius, call your dogs to heel.’
The old man gave a feeble whistle. The dogs ignored him but a pair of his slaves, obviously accustomed to the duty, seized the dogs by the iron collars round their necks and dragged them downstairs towards the cellars and kitchens.
Marcus watched this performance in silence. Then he spoke again. ‘The body, I think, should be moved into a bedchamber. You, you, you and you,’ he indicated a line of waiting slaves, ‘go outside. Fetch a litter to place him on. The funeral arrangers will have one. Order the best they have, and bring the undertaker here. See that the libitinarius brings his anointers and pall-bearers and anything else that he needs.’