The balneator nodded and looked away, a scowl compressing his face into that of an ill-tempered dwarf. Animosity all aimed at me. Prunella was busy figuring out how Gwyna was keeping her tunic up-and wondering if she could get away with wearing a copy. She couldn’t. She’d been swapping intimate secrets with the wine jug again.
“-and of course Sulpicia and Vitellius.”
The smile that Gwyna turned toward Sulpicia held a certain self-conscious sense of triumph. Sulpicia’s face froze, her mouth wavering between a teeth-clenching grimace and a snarl. Vitellius dropped his spoon, which he’d been idiotically tapping on the palm of his hand. His mouth was open. The round was Gwyna’s.
“And may I present Marcus Tiberius Simio-and his charming wife, Regilla. Julius Alpinius Classicianus Favonianus-and his wife, Gwyna. Simio and Regilla are traveling through, on their way to Londinium.”
The hairy little man with red-rimmed eyes didn’t give a rat’s ass who I was. He went back to looking toward the kitchen. His wife was the sort of vacuuosly pretty woman you usually run into at dinner parties. About twenty years younger than her husband. The only thing that interested him was dinner. She stared at me, her eyes as round as the cheap white glass on her ears.
Philo cleared his throat. “Simio is a friend of an old client of mine. He thought he’d look me up, after all these years.”
Freeloaders. Explained his sudden lack of taste in guests.
“Finally”-he was guiding me by the arm back to the middle of the couches-“I don’t believe you’ve met Crassa. Related to the Vespasiani. Distantly,” he added under his breath.
Crassa smiled graciously at Gwyna. She was covered in ancient baubles, and the diadem on her wig was crooked. She turned her attention to me, unrolling me like a scroll. I suddenly remembered the time my Aunt Pervinca slapped my hands for stealing food from the kitchen.
“Arcturus, Gwyna-you’re here. In the place of honor.”
The couch was plush. I tried not to sink. Philo had the taste-and self-control-not to seat himself next to Gwyna. Or maybe that punch was a little harder than I thought. Crassa was next to her, and they were already deep in conversation.
The host placed himself on the next couch, with Octavio beside him. Prunella was calling the wine boy for more. To her right was Vitellius, who also noticed the wine boy but wasn’t drinking.
My eyes met Sulpicia’s. All offers were still open. I grinned at her. Must be the hair oil Gwyna put on me. She was finally forced to turn toward Regilla, who kept plucking her arm. Regilla’s husband was waiting for the food to come out as if it might escape.
Gwyna craned her head to whisper to me. “Is that cow still trying to seduce you with her eyes?”
“I hope you mean Sulpicia.”
She shook with repressed laughter, giving my leg a vicious pinch. I leaned forward to breathe in her ear. “You can’t see where you’re pinching, so be careful.”
“You be careful with Sulpicia, or I’ll know exactly where to pinch.”
The wine boy came by with wet towels for our hands and finally poured the drinks. I looked up to find Philo watching me. “Do you like the wine, Arcturus?” he said softly.
“Thurine, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Last of the vintage.”
There was something melancholy about Philo tonight, something out of reach. And I wondered. I wondered who Philo really was. He stood up to make the traditional speech, his eyes still haunted.
“Friends and guests. Welcome to my home. What is mine is yours.”
Sorry I can’t say the same, old boy. I took another sip of Thurine.
“Relax-enjoy the food and the company. As our Horace said, ‘Carpe diem.’ So please-carpe vinum.”
Everyone clapped their right hands at his wit, and he sat down amid the applause. His face was red. He was certainly following his own advice.
Three slaves came out of the kitchen bearing simple black platters of lentils and chestnuts. My mouth was too full and my stomach too empty to think any more about Philo or anything else.
The suckling pig was tender and exquisitely cooked. When we were finished with the honeyed millet cakes, I wiped my hands for the third time on my new napkin, unrooted a piece of meat with my tongue, and finally gave my attention to the party. I felt someone staring at me. Gwyna was talking to Crassa and fortunately couldn’t see that Sulpicia was using more than her eyes.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
Vitellius was nearly asleep. I lowered my voice. “You managed to pry him away from the bath boy? What’s wrong, is Drusius not-”
The almond eyes narrowed into slits. “Kindly keep your mouth shut.”
I feigned surprise. “But I have a question for your boyfriend-Vitellius-hey, Vitellius!”
He looked around, taking a few minutes to find me. “Oh-hello, Arcturus.”
“Hello. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Me? You wanted to ask me something?”
There was an echo in the room, and I was looking at it. “Yes. How long have you known Titus Ulpius Sestius?”
His expression got a little less bored and a lot less stupid. “Let me see-about two years or so. Why do you ask?”
“Because he claims you’re the one who gave him some information. Information that-well, let’s say it helped make him the man he is today.”
Sulpicia’s skin was now a pale shade of green. She whispered something to him through her teeth. When he looked back up at me, he wasn’t alone. Octavio was staring at me, his face twisted with hate. God, I was good at parties.
Crassa’s voice trailed off. One of those unexpected silences stood in the middle of the room and screamed. I took a drink. “Sad thing-about his aunt dying. Especially since she came out here for a cure.”
Prunella hiccupped. “Lo’s of people come here f’r a cure-an’ they never leave.”
She started laughing, out of control, and Octavio shook her. Regilla never met a pause she liked. Her chatter helped cover for Prunella.
“You never know, do you? You just never know. Why, we met a soldier who told us the governor himself lost his only son. So sad, don’t you think? I mean, his wife’s not getting any younger.” She giggled and held her hands up to her face-“well, none of us are-and I’m sure she won’t be able to have any more children, and the soldier told me it was just a cold, and it just took him like that.”
She snapped her fingers and then lowered her voice. Gwyna put a hand on my leg I could barely feel.
“The soldier said it was the doctor’s fault. The governor has some expensive doctor, you know, they all do, and he said that doctor just let the little boy die, same as if he upped and killed him. I always say, you can never…”
Gwyna made a noise in the back of her throat. Philo reacted first. He almost shouted.
“Doctors-are human-why people-why they want to talk, to gossip…” He shook his head in disgust.
The eyes changed direction, from Regilla-and me-back to him. My stomach was desperately hanging on to the food while the rest of me wanted to throw it back up. Somebody, somewhere-maybe Quatio-maybe someone just like him. I took another drink.
Regilla gaped at Philo, the kind of fish you threw back. Flushed up to her mouse-brown eyebrows. “Oh … oh-you-you’re a doctor, aren’t you-I … I didn’t mean-”
“Your mouth outran the rest of you. Like always.” Simio still looked bored and even a trifle hungry. He scratched the thick hair on his hand. “Always happens.”
She covered her face with her napkin in embarrassment. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten there was pork sauce on it. Philo spoke again.
His voice was in a dream, his eyes unfocused. Sadness was there, too, a pain so sharp I could reach out and prick my finger on it. I recognized it. Guilt was an old friend of mine.
“You can’t save all of them, you know. Come to you with hope in their faces, wanting another day-even another hour. Unfinished business. It’s all unfinished.” He took a long draft of wine. Everybody knew there was more.