The Last Meal (Parts I & II)

‘Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut,’ the Prefect’s Primus Pilus had warned me. And the deeper I went into the Prefect’s connection with the Herod Agrippa business, the more the warning meant.

‘There!’ Rudio fitted me with one last flourish at my toga. ‘Pretty as any Roman citizen could be,’ he laughed. So I smacked the back of his head for being irreverent.
We had stopped at a public house so I could empty my bladder and take a quick stiffener before we reached the house of the Primus Pilus Julius Gennadius. I felt uncomfortable in the unfamiliar constricting folds of the toga, and was constantly terrified it would all tumble from my shoulders.

As the son of a free-born citizen of Rome, I was entitled to wear the iron ring and the toga. But I had seen nothing of Rome since my grand-father lost all the family money, when I was still a child. My father had taken to drink and interminable trading journeys away from home long before that. It was an aunt who placed me in the care of a centurion friend of hers, when my mother poisoned herself and the rest of the children with her. She only missed me off the list because I was playing hookey, watching a couple of lovebirds make out in the dark alley at the rear of my aunt’s shop.

‘We’re here,’ Rudio whispered.
Beads of sweat mingled then poured down the side of my face, and not just because the toga was a daft thing to wear on a warm Judaean evening.
‘A kerchief, master.’ Rudio checked me over, and said, ‘You look the part. Quite splendid.’ I think he was complimenting his own handiwork, but he smiled a shy smile before he fell behind me, saying, ‘You’ll do just fine.’
I sighed, hoping he was right.

The house of Gennadius was, like his office suite, something more than a senior centurion would expect to acquire. Not grand, but expensive. His slaves were busy with guests as I arrived and taken to him. One of them hanging back in the distance shocked me, it was Encumus. The Black from the Prefect’s sex-match, pitted against Vilmes.
‘Am I the last?’ I apologised, looking at the groups already assembled in knots.
‘Not quite,’ Gennadius patted my arm and drew me toward his wife. He moved as one born to greatness. His toga flowing with a sure style, and not a trace of doubt or effort on his face. ‘I hear you had another run in with the local riff-raff,’ he said as we came within earshot or the other guests.
I looked at him, then nodded gravely, ‘That type is everywhere.’

Gennadius’ face was unreadable, but the gentle squeeze on my elbow showed approval. ‘This is Lancianus, my dear,’ he said to his wife. ‘And this brave woman,’ he laid a kiss on her, ‘is my right arm, my friend, and my wife, Antonia.’
‘Welcome, Lancianus,’ her accent was tinged with the ring of Roman aristocracy, not the swell of the Rhine like her husband. ‘I have heard much of you, like your early record in Germany. And your career in Syria is second to none. Oh! No, now, no pretend modesty. I have seen the decorations you wear.’
‘You are a cousin of the Prefect, I believe,’ I said, half guessing.

‘My! You are perceptive, or have you been digging?’ Antonia took charge of me so Gennadius could go to greet the last of the little party of guests, Stephanus and a girl I hadn’t seen with him before. ‘No,’ Antonia carried on, observing my interest in Stephanus, ‘we are very distant cousins. My family forms the lowest of the country bumpkins, scarcely family to Valerianus.’ She laughed as though a bitter joke had passed between us, then she turned from the company. ‘Mark out that girl with Stephanus,’ she said, little above a whisper, ‘she can do you and him great harm.’
‘Darling, look who has arrived,’ Gennadius came toward us.
‘Stephanus!’ Antonia leaned forward for a kiss. ‘And dear cousin Cornelia.’

Cornelia Justa Valeria, smirked as though sullied by the mere touch of Antonia as they embraced. ‘Cousins? Why yes,’ she giggled, turning to Stephanus, ‘I suppose we are sort of cousins, in a way. Many times removed.’
Stephanus and I exchanged nods of distant recognition then glided apart, as we were steered toward different social classes to mingle.

Cornelia Justa Valeria was another niece of the Prefect, a half sister to Julia Valeria. It was clear she felt ill-done by escorting Stephanus to this get together, but the twinkle in her eyes spoke loud enough for me. Had Stephanus asked her to do the dance with the seven veils, there and then, she’d have laughed at the idea and done it as a prank for him. She fitted into their little group with the easy grace of wealth and power.

With her and Stephanus was a young, desperately shy, imperial Tribune and his pitifully ugly wife. And beside them an older man, who it turned out was the wife’s rich uncle. Tagged to his elbow was a startlingly young girl, beautiful as a fresh peach; and it seemed, from his casual attention, she was his wife.
The second group, stood by me, were by far the lowest class of guest. And all four of us unmarried men.

The army treasurer I knew from sight as Marcus Didius Balbus, a studious man, the quiet sort who knows more than he says. We smiled and exchanged pleasantries. In conversation I found out another was the Primus Pilus’ deputy in the Prefect’s service, Optio Nevius. He was interesting. Like Gennadius he had the rugged looks and the light sandy blond hair of the Rhineland, but his eyes fell on Didius as a poor man on riches. The third was the odd one out, we had no idea who or what he was. And he said nothing, or next to nothing, other than to ask questions. An imperial spy, I thought suspiciously.
When Rhianus, the man I had mistaken for an imperial slave at the Prefect’s offices, emerged from a private room, I felt my suspicious were confirmed. He waved away an imperial clerk with a dismissive hand, and joined Gennadius. ‘I am sorry,’ he apologised to Antonia who brought forward a timid little woman, whose mouse-like frame I had missed. ‘Urgent business.’
‘Think no more of it, Master Treasurer,’ Antonia smiled, handing the mouse over to Rhianus, ‘we had a nice little chat about Capri. Beautiful, I imagine.’

The mouse and Rhianus pasted on a fake smile. As the imperial Master Treasurer in Syria-Judaea passed us by, the merest flicker of a look linked him with the spy at my side. It said nothing, but it meant a lot to me.
‘Did you travel separately?’ I asked the spy, as we fell into a quiet one sided chat. ‘You and Rhianus, I mean.’ He looked at me as though I were the statue of an eastern god found in the Caesarea Maritima Synagogue. I changed tack. ‘They say the emperor has made quite a nice nest there, in Capri,’ It worked, he forced a cool shrug. I had him marked, but he had no way to measure what I knew and what I merely guessed.
I left him to stew, as I turned to talk to Nevius. Well, poor Didius needed a break from the youth’s well-meaning but clumsy chatter. Fortunately Nevius and the spy got on a lot better. His readiness to talk to cover his embarrassment drew out a few interesting bits of information from the spy. His name was Narcissus; a Greek by name and accent. And he was in the East on, what he called, ‘a trading mission’ from Naples.

Narcissus was every bit as enchantingly attractive as his name suggests. Ideal, I suppose, to get into those private little areas of both men and women’s lives that a spy must access. But he was good, damn good. He scanned the room with expert simplicity, and the nervous laughs from Nevius, gave him the boy-among-boys cover he needed.
‘We’re going in to dine,’ Didius told me, flat and to the point as ever. ‘Looks like I get the trader,’ he sighed, then smiled. ‘You’ll have the joy of entertaining Nevius.’
I did too. He was a really delightful lad, when he relaxed and took his eyes off Didius. He had that shy puppy-like petulance that seems to increase its attraction with a few cups of wine. His military record was impressive, for such a young man. But then you don’t get into an elite force like his by being nice. He even turned out to be a good conversationalist, giving me the time I wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the party.

As the wine swilled, it became obvious this eclectic group of up-and-comers was not here for the food or the party spirit. It was money and influence that shaped the talk.
It also showed who would let wine be their master. Nevius’ eyes blurred, but it only made him melancholy and more determined to make eyes at Didius Balbus. The rich merchant too became rather too high to care, as he slobbered over his little wifey, and anything else that came close to hand.

But it was Cornelia who made a spectacle of herself. Fully in control of her reactions to others, she seemed determined to make life a merry hell for the young Tribune near to her. Lavishing him with affection that made his wife fall into a sulk, then teasing him remorselessly until he looked close to tears.
Stephanus made an excuse to come over to our side of the tables, so he halted by us as he was shown to the lavatory. He leaned into Didius as he went, and said with sunny familiarity, ‘Marcus Didius, we need to talk.’ He smiled one of his winning smiles, then patted Didius’ knee, ‘After I’ve been.’

And the young Tribune turned out to be Lucius Arminius Corvinus Potitus, according to the spy Narcissus who greeted him as he followed Stephanus to the loo.
‘Corvus, you say?’ I asked, as a throw away.
Narcissus shrugged.
But Nevius filled in the detail. ‘His mother was Lucilla Corvina, the Spanish heiress. The one who ran off with the Greek actor. His father is Lucius Arminius Valerianus Potitus.’
Another Valerian connection. Well that made sense, in an ever darker way.

When I saw Stephanus return, eventually, linked arm in arm with Lucius Potitus and laughing at some girly secret they had shared, I rose, and made my way to the water closet. Ahead of me the Tribune’s wife linked waists with Rhianus’ wife, no doubt retiring to apply fresh powder and wail about the injustice of their tiny Roman world. Behind me, much as I had suspected, a shadow trailed.
‘They make a nice couple.’

I turned my head to see Narcissus watch Stephanus and Potitus slide apart, as Cornelia wheedled between them. ‘Stephanus is a charming lad,’ I said.
‘So was his cousin Alcibiades,’ Narcissus glanced at me before looking back at Stephanus, who had sent Cornelia packing with the reluctant Potitus. ‘A remarkable family.’ With a low key flourish of his hand, Narcissus allowed me to enter the lavatory.

I let go the contents of my full bladder at a water hole, then relaxed. Narcissus stood beside me and allowed a full view of what he had in his hands. He smiled over at me as he slashed against the echoing drop, and when the stream stopped he reached over to take a exploratory grope and my bollocks. I returned the favour, gently running a thumb over the broad span of his circumcised knob.
The voices of our host and Rhianus reached us before they did. But it was the merchant’s rheumy face which peered in at us first, while we were washing our hands in all innocence. ‘Do Memmius!’ Gennadius called to the merchant ahead of Rhianus, but he fell silent as we came toward them at the door.

Narcissus rubbed his hand on my ass as we went back out to our places, but reaching behind me I grabbed his wrist with a twist, and left him with a clear message. He pulled his hand away, and tried nothing else on with me that evening.

At least one couple in the little party was finally happily paired. While standing at the dinning room door leading to the lavatory corridor I saw Stephanus encouraging Nevius to take the empty space beside Didius, when they finished their chat. It seems Nevius and Didius needed no further encouragement, for they took to each other like Ganymede and his Zeus. I laughed, settling onto my couch, wondering who would rape whom in the divine bliss of that little relationship.

Narcissus slunk off to chat with Potitus and his wife, so I settled down to some of the food constantly on the go before us. But I wasn’t alone. One of Antonia’s lap dogs had got in to join the fun. The little beast was promiscuously trying each guest to see who was the softest touch. It snuggled in happily beside me, enjoying the free titbits. But the creature leapt from the couch with a yap on spotting Narcissus’ return.
‘Have a nice chat?’ I asked with a tone cool as the wine at my lips.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact,’ Narcissus said without looking at me.
Growling loudly at Narcissus, I smacked a small bowl of mushrooms out of his hand, sending it clattering across the room. All eyes turned on me in surprise as I leaped from the couch, calling out, ‘No one take the mushrooms!’

‘Oh! Little Bibia. My Bibia!’ Antonia sobbed as we stood over the dog fitting in a pool of its own vomit. ‘Please, Centurion, don’t her suffer like this,’ Antonia pleaded with me as I knelt to inspect the mess.
I nodded. Covering my actions, I took the dog’s head and neck and wrenched it with a soft snap. The violent fits stopped and peace stilled the convulsions, so I rose up.
‘Let the food and drink stay exactly where it is,’ the Primus Pilus commanded his slaves. ‘Poison!’ he whispered, looking at the vile, bloody liquor on the floor.
‘I’d check the kitchen staff, as soon as possible, sir,’ I suggested, not wishing to overstep my welcome more than I had.

Gennadius snapped his fingers and joined some of his slaves in searching the house, but not before giving Antonia a gentle kiss.
Amid the terrifying wails and screams, coming mostly from the Lady Cornelia, Rudio bid me to follow him. ‘The Primus has found another body,’ Rudio whispered.
A slave lay outside the kitchen with the same pool of rank vomit around him. ‘How long has he been with you?’ I asked Gennadius, who turned to his chef.
‘Only a few days, sir,’ the chef shivered beneath his sweat. ‘But he came with the highest recommendations, and his work with the vegetable dishes has been excellent.’ The chef looked for reassurance to his master. All the slaves looked on, knowing that the threat of torture hung over them unless answers could be found.
‘Any slaves missing?’ I said, more interested in checking the dead slave.
‘Sir!’ one slave called from the back of the huddle. ‘That Egyptian Jewess, Isa, the one brought in to help with the sauces, has gone.’
‘Search for her!’ Gennadius barked.
‘There’s no need. You won’t find her, even if she is still alive,’ I sighed. ‘Is this one a Jew?’ I quizzed the chef. But since he and the other slaves looked blank, I uncovered the man’s genitalia to satisfy myself. ‘No, it would seem not.’