XII
PHILO WORRIED BECAUSE never before had he been responsible for entertaining such a prestigious guest and everything had had to be done in such a hurry. Ferox had not returned, and from what the Lord Sabinus had said, this was also worrying, although Philo had waited too long and too often for his master to return to give the matter much thought. Even if the centurion had been here, the real work would have fallen to him, for Ferox had little sense of what was proper and had far too casual an approach to food, furnishings and those little touches that showed true respect for the guests and reflected honour to the host. In some ways, the centurion’s absence was for the best.
The ladies had helped, and it was fine to see them both, and even more the staff they had brought with them. Privatus, the chamberlain of the noble Sulpicia Lepidina and her husband Cerialis, was an old friend from Vindolanda, and had been a wonderful and very practical help, as well as having the sense to step back and assist rather than try to take charge. In haste they had unpacked some of their finest tableware, to add to the items produced by the queen. To the three new slaves purchased by his master were added his pick of the other households – or at least those travelling with their mistresses.
The legatus had naturally occupied a number of rooms in the praetorium, just as Ferox had ordered. His stay was to be a short one, perhaps no more than a single night, and the modest number of slaves and freedmen travelling with the noble senator were under strict instructions to make no fuss or demands and to obey Philo’s orders on domestic matters. It was courteous and a great condescension, since even Philo had to admit that his own master was of minor importance compared to a former praetor and relation of the emperor himself. It also made it easier to ignore the thinly veiled arrogance of the legatus’ staff, especially his bald freedman, Sosius.
Sulpicia Lepidina supplied the clue to one of the guest’s favourite foods, while Privatus had heard of this from one of the legatus’ staff and was able to offer the recipe. Thus, Philo was able to watch as the slaves carried a tray to place in front of each couch. Apparently it was called tetrafarmacum, and he prayed that they had put in the right mix of ham, pheasant and sows udders and baked the pastry as it should be. The whole mixture was outlandish and the name had puzzled Privatus until Philo wondered whether it was meant as a joke at the expense of the Epicureans, and Sulpicia Lepidina had nodded in approval.
Philo stood apart from the diners, and part of him enjoyed the sheer responsibility of presiding over the occasion, directing the slaves and arranging every detail like a general with an army. Once Indike passed him, carrying a small jug of sauce to garnish the meats, and as she passed she pressed his hand for a moment and smiled. It was going well, but the ‘battle’ was not yet won and the ‘enemy’ willing to acknowledge that they had been well entertained.
They had lamps on high brass stands, but not too many. Overzealous efforts to clean the walls on the part of one of the new slaves had smeared the paintings and broken off whole pieces of plaster. As a result, one nymph had only one leg left to her, while in the scene where a shepherd surprised another group of nymphs bathing, he no longer had a head, which may have helped to explain their distress. Nearby a city appeared to have suffered an earthquake, so much had fallen away. The shadows offered some protection, and only one of the guests had commented so far. For a timber fort this was a decent enough dining room, even if it could not compare to some of the ones in the stone houses in forts they had visited on the long journey from Britannia. This room was a good size, had a flagstone floor, plaster walls, and just one high window, the window closed and shutters drawn to keep out the noises and odours of the fort. Yet it had not been well maintained, and the painted walls were cracked and had damp patches even before they were attacked in an effort to clean. Nor was the place ideal, for the ceiling was lower than it should be, so that the music of the lyre player and even the diners’ conversations echoed uncomfortably.
There were eight guests, for the ninth place was reserved for Ferox, should he have appeared in time. Philo was relieved that he had not arrived at the last moment, no doubt filthy from travel and truculent in his refusal to be made acceptable for the occasion. The two ladies sat, one on either side of Hadrian, for one was a senator’s daughter and the other in a sense their hostess. Apart from that, Hadrian appeared to enjoy their conversation, no doubt because both were well able to make themselves entertaining. Sabinus, Dionysius and the senior decurion were on one couch, and Piso and an equestrian tribune from I Minervia on the third. Hadrian had sent word that this was to be the seating order, and this had been his only intervention. Piso was the one who had seen the headless shepherd and pointed it out to the other diners.
All in all, Philo was pleased so far, while remaining intensely nervous. He watched every step taken by the girls as they carried the pies to the table, his mind racing with nightmares of someone slipping and dropping their precious cargoes. Thankfully, they arrived safely, were placed without fuss, but in the most convenient places, and then their carriers gave the slightest bow and retired.
Hadrian was in mid flow, speaking of the genius of poets and slipping easily between Latin and Greek and back again as he quoted. Now and again the ladies said a line or two, and Philo noted that Claudia Enica tended to get the words slightly wrong, no doubt deliberately for this permitted the legatus to correct her. This was always done with good humour and better manners – or almost always. Piso tried to take the lady’s side more than once, saying that her change was an improvement. The others said little, and if Philo had not been so occupied he would dearly have loved to listen to the legatus, for he seemed a man of immense learning and considerable insight. He was also obviously fond of all things Greek, unlike so many Roman lords who privately were Hellenes, but paraded in public a boorish disdain.
The conversation seemed to be nearing a natural break, for they had moved on to descriptions of food, with Sulpicia Lepidina saying that at last they were eating their tables, which Philo remembered as an allusion to Virgil, when Privatus came to his side and whispered a message.
Philo sighed, but orders were orders and he did not feel that he could ignore them. Privatus waved a questioning hand, indicating that he was willing to do the fell deed, but Philo stilled him.
He tapped his staff – another item borrowed for the night – on the flagstone floor. ‘Noble lords and great ladies,’ he said. ‘Please beg my pardon for interrupting.’
‘Not at all, Philo,’ Hadrian said. ‘Do go on.’ There were not many senior officers – or junior for that matter – who would have learned his name and used it, and Philo was impressed.
‘I am pleased to announce that Flavius Ferox, praepositus of the numerus Brittanorum and curator of the praesidium has returned. He apologises profusely for his absence on duty at the time of your arrival and thus for his inability to greet you in a fitting manner.’ Ferox had never apologised profusely for anything in his entire life, but Philo was not about to let the truth get in the way of fitting words.
‘He also apologises for the limitations imposed on his hospitality in this desolate outpost, but hopes that the humble hospitality his household was able to offer such distinguished guests did at least do a little to refresh them after the rigours of their journey.’ Philo considered this to contain the essence of his master’s ‘I bet the mongrels are complaining.’