We arrived at Clodia's door at the last moment of twilight, when the hard edges of the world begin to soften and grow hazy like the mind of a man ready for sleep. But while the world might be drowsy, the party-goers at Clodia's house were wide awake. The brightly lit dining room off her garden was alive with music and conversation. Slaves were jus beginning to show the guests to their places at the dining couches when we arrived. It was an odd mixture of impeccably dressed patricians and scruffy-looking young poets, of radical politicians and aging courtesans, of exotic-looking foreigners and even a few galli. The air was heavy with the world-weary sophistication that passes for style in Rome these days.
Bethesda clutched my arm. On her face was a look so unlike her that it took me a moment to figure out what it was: panic. "What are we doing here?" she whispered.
"Attending what appears to be a very fashionable party, with very fashionable people."
"Why?"
"I think it was you who insisted that we come," I said dryly.
"I must have been out of my mind. Take me home at once."
"But we haven't eaten yet." The smells wafting from the kitchen made my mouth water.
"We haven't even said hello to our hostess."
"That is exactly why we should go this instant. It will be as if we never came."
"Bethesda-"
"This is absurd. Look at me."
I stepped back and did just that.
"Yes? I see a beautiful woman, immaculately dressed and made up. She looks like no one else here."
"Exactly! Anyone can tell I don't belong."
"Why not?"
"I'm not even Roman."
"Of course you are. You're my wife."
"We're not rich."
"No one could tell from the jewelry you're wearing."
"My accent!"
"It gives you an air of mystery." "I'm the oldest woman here." "You're the most beautiful woman here."
"He's absolutely right, you know." I turned to see Catullus at my elbow, holding a cup of wine and wearing a slack grin. "Gratidianus, I didn't expect to see you here."
"Clodia invited us," said Bethesda, a little too insistently.
"She invited me, too, do you believe it?" said Catullus. "Against her better judgment, I'm sure, or against her brother's judgment, anyway. But he's not here-busy with tomorrow's festivities-and I am, so to Hades with him! Let nothing spoil my triumphant return to Palatine society! What a bunch of leeches, lechers and losers." Catullus surveyed the crowd, his grin dripping with acid. "What a bizarre menagerie Clodia's put together: the worst poets and the crookedest politicians in Rome; bankrupt nobles and obscenely wealthy ex-slaves; beautiful boys and homely prostitutes. Did I say homely? Ugly enough to turn a man to stone-no obscene pun intended. And here before me, the most honest man in Rome, accompanied by-" He paused and his expression sobered a bit. "Just as you put it, Gordianus: the most beautiful woman here."
"My wife," I said. "And this, Bethesda, is Gaius Valerius Catullus, just back from a year of government service in Bithynia."
Bethesda nodded knowingly.
"The poet," she said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Am I that famous? Or have you been talking about me behind my back, Gordianus?"
"Not me," I said, trying to make something of the cryptic smile on Bethesda's face and wondering what else Clodia confided to her about Catullus at their first and only meeting. At least Bethesda seemed to be getting her bearings, for which I was glad.
A serving slave arrived to show us to our places. Couches were gathered in U-shaped groups around serving tables. The seating was two to a couch, allowing plenty of room to sit up or recline. As it turned out, Catullus was put at the couch next to ours, at my right. For the moment there was no one else to share his couch. Had Clodia placed us together on purpose, or simply because we were the last guests to be invited? Our group of couches was situated in a corner of the room, the farthest away from the hostess's. That suited me; it would allow Bethesda to feel less conspicuous. But Catullus was not pleased. "Banished back to Bithynia," I heard him grumble.
A senator named Fufius was shown to the couch at Bethesda's left.
He was the man whom Atratinus had accused Caelius of assaulting during an election, and would be testifying as a prosecution witness. Fufius was accompanied by a very young courtesan. Bethesda raised an eyebrow, and I could read her mind: the girl was hardly older than Diana. But Bethesda seemed somewhat mollified when the senator gave her an appraising look and an appreciative smile.
Clodia had not yet appeared and her couch was unoccupied. Catullus scanned the faces of those who still stood and milled about. "Who will take the place of honor beside our hostess tonight? Let me see: husband Quintus is down in Hades, brother Publius is off making last-moment arrangements for tomorrow's festival, and lover Caelius-ah, he's on trial for murder, isn't he? Poison, wasn't it? Well, I suppose we wouldn't want a poisoner at our dinner party, no matter how superior his stud service. Still, someone will have to share the couch with our queen. Not one of her other brothers, I think; Publius would go crazy with jealousy. Perhaps that ranting freedman who spoke at the trial today. He has Publius's name, if not his looks, and we've seen that he can fill in for his ex-master, in public speaking anyway. But it's rather hard to imagine the likes of him lying with his head on her lap while she dabbles sauteed sparrow brains into his mouth, isn't it? Ah, there she is, our Lesbia. Almighty Venus! Where on earth did she get that dress?"
"You can see right through it," murmured Bethesda.
"I happen to know that the fabric comes from Cos," I said, showing off.
"Something new from a famous silkmaker there."
"I thought you weren't her lover," growled Catullus. Was he teasing me again, or truly angry? Suddenly he let out a barking laugh, so loud that several heads turned to look. "Oh no, not Egnatius!" he whispered. "I thought she was done with him."
Clodia took her place at her couch. Joining her was a tall, muscular young man with a full black beard and a dazzling smile. I recognized his face from the Salacious Tavern.
"Very handsome," said Bethesda.
"If a stud horse could stand upright and grin he'd look like Egnatius, and women would call him handsome, I suppose." Catullus curled his upper lip. "The foul-mouthed Spaniard with the sparkling smile. But then, don't Spaniards always have the whitest teeth? You know how they get such white teeth, don't you?"
Bethesda inclined her head inquiringly.
"If Egnatius is the lord of the feast, all I can say is: check your wine cup before you take a swig."
"What do you mean?" asked Bethesda. Catullus cleared his throat and began:
"Egnatius is forever smiling to show off that dazzling grin.
Go to a trial-"
He started to laugh and covered his mouth until he could stop. The senator and his courtesan leaned closer to listen. "No, wait, let me start over. I'll change it up a bit, especially for tonight. Let me think… " He clapped his hands. "Yes:
Egnatius is forever smiling to show off that dazzling grin.
In court tomorrow, Cicero will have everyone weeping:
'Pitiful poisoner, er, prisoner!'
– except for Egnatius, who'll grin.
And when Caelius is run out of town, his mother mourning,
'Only son! Good as dead!'-for her sake, Egnatius will grin.
It's a sickness, that grin: everywhere, everywhen.
Social grace? Social disease, I'd call it!
Look Egnatius, listen up: Had you been born Roman,
Or Sabine, or Tiburtine, obese Etruscan or Umbrian slob,
Or a swarthy Lanuvian with teeth just as perfect,
Or a Transpadane from my own dear, sweet Verona,