He spoke to the twins of how difficult their father’s job must be and how his peerless reputation had spread all the way back to Rome. The girls accepted the compliments politely. Cassius pressed on, ruminating on the pressures and difficulties of the job, but the girls couldn’t be cajoled into anything even remotely useful, responding only in bland generalisations. It was becoming a one-way conversation, so Cassius moved on.
He asked about Zenobia; and the three girls suddenly became animated. They took it in turns to tell him what they’d seen of her and — though careful not to suggest any kind of admiration — it was obvious Zenobia’s beauty and charisma had made a lasting impression on them all. When the talk turned to her fate they became quieter, almost sad, and — not for the first time — Cassius felt regret that he wouldn’t get a chance to see the fallen queen in the flesh.
Interesting though all this was, Cassius had made no progress. He looked around for Antonia and was about to make his excuses when a slave announced dinner.
For about two-thirds of the guests, this signalled the end of their involvement in the evening’s proceedings and they were guided to the door by Scaurus’s numerous servants. The remaining guests — about a hundred — congregated outside the dining room.
Feigning interest in a wall dotted with antlers and tusks, then a huge mosaic of multicoloured dolphins, Cassius successfully detached himself from the girls, thus avoiding an encounter with their father. Once the governor’s party was safely inside the dining room he joined the queue. Just ahead was the vast bulk of Magistrate Quarto. He seemed jovial; laughing and joking with the men around him.
Scaurus hurried past, hauling a pet leopard by a leash, reprimanding various servants who trailed along in his wake, trying not to get too close to the big cat.
Cassius suddenly felt something dig into his left arm. He looked down and saw a bronze viper head.
‘Sorry,’ said Antonia. ‘Any progress?’
Cassius matched her whisper. ‘No. You?’
Antonia took a small mirror from her purse and examined her make-up. ‘Possibly. I’ll tell you when we’re seated.’
The senior attendant knew Antonia by sight and they were swiftly escorted to their places. The marble that covered the dining room floor and walls was striped with sea green. Not far from the doorway was another huge statue — a silver rendering of the Tyche. Beyond, three lines of tables had been arranged to form a U facing the statue. Antonia and Cassius were seated to the right, not far from a doorway through which sweating slaves brought platters of food from the kitchens.
Cassius tucked Antonia’s high-backed chair in behind her, then sat down. He thought he saw a bread roll on the floor but then realised it was part of an ingenious mosaic, designed to look like abandoned food. All the crockery on the table was silver, including a ruby-encrusted goblet for each diner. Cassius drew Antonia’s perfume into his nose as she leaned close to him. It was delightful.
‘This Octobrianus is quite the enigma,’ she whispered. ‘Drusilla’s washer-woman’s brother works at his stables. Apparently he’s refused three potential marriages in the last few years.’
‘Perhaps women are not to his taste.’
‘On the contrary — there’s hardly a maid at his villa he’s not tried it on with.’
As they spoke, Cassius and Antonia washed their hands in the bowls of scented water in front of them.
‘Anything else?’
‘He often goes out alone at night, sometimes not returning until close to dawn.’
Cassius elected not to mention the procurator’s possible Palmyran connections. If Antonia knew of anything, she would surely have said so.
‘It’s always the quiet ones,’ she observed, gazing across the room. Octobrianus was sitting almost exactly opposite them. He was leaning back in his chair, dictating to a slave who knelt nearby, nodding continuously as he wrote.
‘Certainly works hard,’ observed Cassius.
‘How pretentious,’ scoffed Antonia. ‘Probably a shopping list.’
She pointed at the Gordio twins. ‘It seems you’ve made quite an impression on the girls.’
They were sitting next to their father, who had been been placed close to the centre of the middle table, as had General Ulpian. The girls waved. Cassius waved back. Thankfully, Gordio was busy talking to his wife.
‘I must concede that they seem convinced of your gentlemanly qualities,’ said Antonia with a slight smile.
‘And you?’
‘I’ll tell you at the end of the evening.’
Having dispensed with the leopard, Scaurus strode back into the dining room, a huge goblet in his hand. A servant in his path dodged quickly out of the way, losing his grip on the heavy bronze dish he was carrying. The dish was empty but struck the floor with a thunderous clatter. The servant quickly picked it up. Before he could get away, Scaurus put a hand on his shoulder.
The boy was perhaps fourteen. Cassius had seen frozen expressions like the one on his face many times — the neutral visage of those who couldn’t be sure how best to react, and therefore chose not to react at all. The boy was tall, and Scaurus had to reach high to grip the back of his neck and turn him towards the seated guests. Everyone stopped talking and the other servants suddenly became still.
‘Clumsy oaf, this one,’ said Scaurus, ‘almost tipped a steaming bowl of water on me yesterday. What shall we do with him?’
Nobody said anything.
‘Perhaps I should feed him to my lampreys?’
Several men — Magistrate Quarto among them — laughed.
‘No,’ continued Scaurus, his tone softening, ‘I like to think of my slaves as my children. They must not only be disciplined but educated, and cared for.’ He was now stroking the slave’s hair with his fingers. ‘Go,’ he said quietly. ‘Be careful next time.’
The boy walked away, shoulders stiff with fear.
‘My guests, later we shall have more entertainment, and we shall drink and toast as never before.’ Scaurus spread his palms towards the tables. ‘But I have had my chefs working on this lot for weeks, and some of it is getting cold. So eat! All of you eat!’
Having lived on simple fare for the past month, Cassius found he had rather lost the taste for rich food but there was no mistaking the quality of what was on offer. Ignoring the endless varieties of seafood, the hams, the sausages and the fatted liver, he settled for a plate of scrambled eggs with some salted cheese. He also took some bread from one of the identical loaves within reach of every guest. On top of each loaf, written in a white glaze, were the words Unshaken, Unthrown.
‘What’s that about?’ he asked Antonia.
‘The city’s motto. During the reign of Caligula there was a terrible earthquake here. A seer named Deborius created a talisman to protect the city against further disaster — a porphyry column; and written upon the base was that phrase. It was struck by lightning during Domitian’s time. The column was destroyed but the base was left standing.’
‘You’re glad this latest disaster is over with, I presume?’
Antonia — who had hardly eaten a thing — picked at a stork wing and put some of the pale, thready meat on her plate.
‘I remember the Persians. Compared to that, one might not even have known the city was occupied. I will say I enjoyed seeing their arrogant bitch of a queen knocked off her perch, but we should be glad she fled instead of trying to making a stand here.’