"I'm sure your own dignity is quite impressive enough, dear," Julia said.
We were carried in her elaborate litter, rather crowded now, what with Circe and Antonia making a pair of sweet-smelling cushions behind us. I had wanted to ride, but Julia had vetoed that. It is all but impossible to wear a toga on horseback, and Julia declared that I must enter the town in my purple-bordered toga praetexta. An old-fashioned Roman would have walked, but there were limits to my respect for tradition.
"Noble Praetor," cried the leader of this delegation, "all Baiae welcomes you! I am Lucius Lucillius Norbanus, duumvir of Baiae and master of the vintner's guild."
"And I," said the man next to him, "am Manius Silva, duumvir of Baiae and master of the perfumer's guild."
In order of precedence, the others were introduced, officials and priests, distinguished foreign visitors including a couple of princes, a vacationing Parthian ambassador, and a deposed king of some country in the general vicinity of India.
"And now, Praetor," Norbanus said, "allow us to bear you into the city in a manner befitting your rank."
Whereupon I was led to another litter, this one open and furnished with a curule chair grandly draped with leopard skin. It was hoisted to the shoulders of ten stalwart, yellow-haired Gauls, and in this state I was carried to the city while beautiful young girls strewed flowers before me. What a pity, I thought, that such an office is held for only a single year.
The road to Baiae, like thost to most Italian municipalities, was lined with tombs, and just outside the gate of the city we paused at the most imposing of these, a great marble confection that had the appearance of being layered atop a much older, simpler one.
"This," Norbanus announced, "is the tomb of Baios, helmsman of the ship of Ulysses. When the wanderings of that angry man were at an end, Baios settled here and founded our city."
No matter where I go, every city claims a Trojan War veteran as its founder. I don't even have to go anywhere, since Rome makes the same claim. Doubtless there is some reason for this but I can't imagine what it is.
From the tomb, our little procession passed through the gate, which was little more than an ornamental arch, since this town was never meant to be defended, and into the city proper, where I was showered with enough flowers to glut the floral lust of a triumphing general. Somehow, I didn't allow this to go to my head. I could tell that these people didn't care a peach pit for another visiting Roman official. I was just one more excuse for a party. Well, that was fine with me. I liked parties as much as anyone. Maybe more than most.
We wended our way through the city to the bay, and there I was carried onto a bridge laid atop a line of boats; and this was not a simple boat bridge of the sort used by the legions to cross rivers and straits but an elaborate construction, painted and gilded, its roadbed covered with turf, its railings sporting statues of Triton and Nereids and other fabulous sea deities and covered by the inevitable awning, lest anyone get sunburned while getting to the festivities.
" The banquet was held on one of those artificial islands I mentioned earlier. This one consisted of a central barge you could have raced chariots on for size, surrounded by two-story barges, so that the whole thing was surrounded by a gallery and topped by an immense canopy held up by poles twice the height of ship's masts and dyed, unbelievably, purple.
"There can't be that much purple dye in the world," I muttered. That dye is the most expensive substance known to man. The purple border of my toga praetexta had cost enough to buy an excellent farm complete with staff. I had nearly had a seizure when presented with the bill. Oh, well, the expenses of office were intended to keep the riffraff out.
A herald of thunderous voice announced us, naming the most distinguished members of my party. Then we got to meet all the local grandees, most of them wealthy equites like the duumviri. These were mostly heads of various guilds and syndicates. I quickly discerned that few of these were involved in the actual manufacture of their products. Rather, they were importers, distributors, and speculators in goods, mainly high-priced luxury items but also staple products like wine, grain, oil, and garum.
The men for the most part observed the sumptuary laws, their clothing, while of the highest quality, consisting of the usual white tunic and toga and no more than a few gold rings by way of jewelry. Their wives, however, provided a sharp contrast. Each sought to outdo the others in showy finery or shocking immodesty. All were draped with jewels and pearls; their hair was dressed into towering, complicated styles, adorned with more jewels and pearls and powdered with gold dust. And then there were the gowns.
In Rome, the infamous, all-but-transparent Coan cloth was worn by a few rich, scandalous women but only at private parties attended by the fashionable set. Here in Baiae, women wore it at public banquets. It was frequently forbidden by the censors, who, it seemed, failed to impress the women of Baiae.
"This is shocking!" Julia said in a strangled voice as these women lined up to be presented.
"I'm getting to like this place better by the minute," I told her.
"You would."
"Look," I said. "There's a woman wearing a dress you can't see through." I inclined my head toward a tall lady with flaming hair whose gown was a startling emerald green.
"That gown is pure silk!" Julia hissed. "She just wants to show that she can afford such a thing. Who can afford pure silk? I've only seen such dress at Ptolemy's court."
We were conversing in the subdued tones one uses at such occasions, smiling and nodding as we did. Catilina's wife and daughter had owned silk gowns, but I didn't want to call Julia's attention to my relationship with the latter lady.
First to be presented was the wife of Norbanus, one Rutilia, who wore an astounding wig made entirely of hair-fine gold wire. Her close-pleated gown of pale saffron Coan cloth displayed a more than ample body and that her use of cosmetics did not end at her throat.
"You honor us with your presence," Rutilia said. "The two of you really must be our guests at a little evening entertainment Norbanus and I are hosting in a week's time."
"It would be our honor," Julia answered. "Is it a special occasion?"
"Of course. It is in honor of your arrival. I can promise that all the most fashionable society of Baiae will be there without all this-" she waved gilded fingernails toward the glittering throng "-vulgar crowding."
"Well," I said, "we wouldn't want too many millionaires treading on our toes, would we?" Julia nudged me in the ribs.
"We shall be anticipating the event eagerly," Julia assured her.
"Wonderful." She beamed. "Well, I mustn't monopolize you. So many boring people to meet, eh?" She bowed slightly and made her way off, swaying and jiggling fetchingly.
And so we went through the greeting line. Last of all was the tall, red-haired lady in the emerald silk gown. Apparently she thought the extravagant dress was display enough, for her gold, jewels, and pearls were relatively restrained.
"And you would be?" I asked.
"Jocasta, Praetor," she said, "wife of Gaeto the Numidian." She had a furry voice, very pleasing to the ear.
"Then you would be the mother of that charming young man we met, Gelon. He does you great credit." Apparently, Julia did not find her voice or perhaps other attributes as pleasing as I.
"I wish I could claim him, but Gelon is the son of Gaeto's eldest wife, Riamo. She has never left Numidia and rules over the household there."
"And is your husband here?" Julia asked, looking out over the multitude. "My husband has met him, but I have not had the pleasure."