Chapter XI: Proculeius’ Hospitality
The House of Proculeius, Rome
15 June, 26 A.D.
It was two days before the nuptials between Pontius Pilate and Claudia Procula were scheduled to take place. At the insistence of Claudia’s father, Proculeius, a massive banquet would be held that evening before all the formalities of the pending marriage rituals began. Artorius was discouraged because the formal toga he had ordered had not been delivered before his departure from the Rhine. He had tried on others that the clothing merchants had, but none of the hateful garments fit him right. Those large enough to fit around his gigantic chest and shoulders had been designed for men of much greater height, not to mention abdominal girth, than the young Centurion.
Diana had told him repeatedly to quit worrying about it, even though her formal stola only made them clash when they walked together hand-in-hand. All of the other legionaries were wearing their best tunics, though anyone who was a Centurion or above was in a formal toga. As the assembled host of friends met at the inn just up the road from where the Proculeius mansion was, Artorius felt grossly out of place.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Vitruvius said, “it took three months for my toga to arrive.”
Artorius glared at him, but then shrugged. Vitruvius was basically a taller version of himself when it came to body frame. The fact that he had been a Centurion for a number of years and had not put off buying all the trappings of his position had made it easy for him. His young protégé had not even considered buying formal dress clothes until roughly a month before coming to Rome, and he realized he had nothing appropriate to wear.
“Eh, our good Centurion stands out too much in a crowd to be mistaken for a lowly legionary like the rest of us,” Valens said, smacking Artorius on the shoulder.
He, too, looked out of place when he stood with Svetlana. Though not a noblewoman, Svetlana and her brother Magnus’ family was very wealthy. Their grandfather, Mad Olaf, had insisted that she wear the best gown that his fortune could afford. The Norsewoman had the good sense not to allow her grandfather to purchase her anything that would outshine the patrician and equestrian class ladies.
“Hey, where’s Centurion Proculus?” Praxus asked; looking around to make sure everyone was there.
Last thing any of them wanted was for one of their own who had been invited to Pilate’s prenuptial banquet to be off drunk, whoring, or at the gambling dens.
“He’s staying at the Proculeius house,” Magnus answered. “Him being family and all.”
“So just how big is this place?” Valens thought aloud.
“You’ll see,” Artorius replied with a grin. “Alright, everyone will be on their best behavior, at least until the patricians start hitting the wine and start puking. They can get almost as rowdy as drunken legionaries, only difference is they have a lot nicer things they get to break.”
“Yeah, we’re not allowed to have nice things,” Valens complained.
The small procession left the inn in high spirits. There were approximately two dozen legionaries in the group. The top two soldiers from each cohort had been given leave to attend, as well as a few personal acquaintances for Tribune Pilate. All were excited because opportunities for mere plebs to celebrate with the nobility came but once in a lifetime, if at all. Artorius and Diana walked with his Cohort Commander Vitruvius, who, while Artorius felt out of place being devoid of a proper toga, felt the same for having had to leave his wife in Cologne.
It seemed strange to Artorius that he had never even met his father-in-law before. Diana had reluctantly let him read a couple of letters Proculeius sent to her just after their own marriage. He expressed disappointment that she had decided to bind herself to a lowly plebian that could only attain their social status at the end of his career. He later stated that as a barren divorcee she was free to be with whomever she wanted, though he wished that if she was going to be with someone, that she could have at least tried to find a man of quality. Centurion Proculus had warned him in advance of Proculeius’ nature and disdain towards anything plebian. Proculus said the only reason he was even tolerated was because he was family, and that his rank had somehow earned him the right to associate with his distant cousins.
Like most villas in Rome, the gateway leading into the courtyard of the Proculeius mansion was rather plain and unassuming. A few potted trees and plants were the only ornaments, until they entered the opulent atrium. One would never guess the grandeur that awaited them inside. People were gathering at the place like flies on honey; magistrates, Plebian Tribunes, business owners associated with Proculeius, and even a few senators. The legionaries stood in awe at the sight of the magnificent banquet hall, once they were inside. It looked large enough to hold an entire cohort, with couches and small tables strewn throughout. At the far side was the head table, on a short dais, with the most ornate couches behind. Artorius noted that, aside from those on the head table, the goblets and plates were all clay rather than the ornate silver. He reasoned that this would be a rather rowdy feast, and Proculeius felt that clay was more expendable than silver. As they mingled in the foyer, wondering where their place would be to sit, Artorius saw his father-in-law for the first time.
He was a taller man, though aside from that he resembled neither of his daughters. His father had made their family’s name, and the younger Proculeius had always lived reluctantly in his shadow. His father’s status had made the family extremely wealthy and given them all a comfortable lifestyle. He wore an ornate toga and was almost as splendidly dressed as any of the senators present. The host at any Roman banquet needed to make the best impression possible, hence the look of consternation as he quickly walked towards them.
“What are legionaries doing in my house?” he fumed, his voice angry but quiet, lest any of the senators notice the plebian soldiers amongst the throng of guests.
“And good to see you too, Father!” Diana retorted. “Ten years I’ve been from Rome, and this is how we’re greeted?”
“Daughter, it is good to see you,” Proculeius replied, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. The woman who accompanied him looked to be younger than Diana, and one could only assume that he married her in order to keep up his own appearances. He then glared at Artorius.
“Hmm, so you must be my new son-in-law,” he said curtly. “I suppose your presence will be tolerated this evening, in spite of the disrespect you show my house in your manner of dress.” Artorius’ face twitched, but he kept his composure.
“We appreciate your hospitality,” he replied, pretending not to hear the insult.
“Oh, no,” Proculeius responded. “I said your presence will be tolerated…that and your fellow Centurion, who at least has the courtesy to make himself presentable. But these…” He waved his hand with disdain while glaring at the legionaries.
“With all due respect, sir, these are soldiers of Rome,” Vitruvius replied smoothly as he glided up beside Artorius. “They are the ones who protect you while you sleep and while you feast in your great banquet hall.”
“And their place is on the frontier, rather than my banquet hall!” Proculeius scowled. “I will not have my house and reputation tarnished by their presence.”