The Eternal Banquet

by Jennifer Macaire

  Fifth rule: No writing on the walls – this rule was widely ignored; graffiti was everywhere, but if you got caught you paid a fine.

  Sixth rule: No animals except dogs, birds, cats, and monkeys are allowed in the city. No lions, cheetahs, wolves, or snakes, even on leashes. For horses, goats, and cattle see rule twenty-three.

  Seventh rule: Drive chariots and wagons on the left side of the street. Cross streets on the raised crossings. Don’t block traffic. Don’t walk in the middle of the road. Stay on the sidewalks. The pedestrian streets are forbidden to wheeled vehicles during the day. See the section in the rules marked ‘vehicles’.

  Eighth rule: Roman citizens have the first choice of seats in the stadium. Tickets can be procured for guests at the east gate.

  Ninth rule: Keep your guest pass and identification with you at all times.

  Tenth rule: No littering. Garbage bins are at every street corner.

  Eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth rules: No spitting in the streets. No nudity in the streets. No swearing at the policemen.

  The rest of the rules were mainly along the same lines. No this, no that. Rome was a small city at the time, but an extremely bossy and well-organized one. There were police everywhere, and Roman citizens were most helpful about explaining things.

  The poorer people lived in apartments or in cramped houses in the suburbs, while the richer folk lived outside the city in vast estates. Slaves made up a good part of the population, though perhaps not as large as in Athens. Slaves were also less respected here, the Romans tended towards snobbery. I noticed that there were many three and four-storey apartment buildings, quite a large suburban development, and a very beautiful city centre. The roofs were shingled with red tiles, the buildings were made of brick and stone covered with whitewash, and everywhere you looked were cunning gardens and temples.

  At first we were silent, walking on the left side of the street and being careful not to pee, swear, or spit. Scipio was taking us to his uncle’s house. He had been there once before so he was fairly sure where to go. Just to make sure, we stopped and asked a Roman citizen the way, showing him the address and trying not to look too much like tourists.

  We couldn’t help staring though. Even Alexander was affected, although he was trying very hard not to show it. He’d somehow decided he didn’t like Romans. Was it jealousy? Roman men were tall, dark, and handsome. Roman citizens walked with a swagger, sure that their city, their togas, and their … well, their everything was vastly superior than anything else in the world at that time.

  I was dazzled. Even the ancient cities of Babylon and Taxila looked worn around the edges compared to the new splendour of Rome. Because, compared to the older Persian and Greek cities, it was brand-new.

  Imagine, Memphis was founded in 2990 BC, more than twenty-five centuries before Rome! Babylon, the queen of cities, was raised to her position of capital of Mesopotamia under Nebuchadnezzar in 1124 BC, nearly a thousand years before Rome was even founded. Those cities were built of sun-baked brick and mud, and as you know, rain, wind, and snow have a habit of weathering dried mud no matter how lovely it is. When I saw Babylon, most of the buildings had been rebuilt at least twenty times. The ziggurat was under constant repair, and the palace always had a wall to shore up, tiles on the roof to replace, paint to freshen, and although these tasks were carried out immediately, the city still looked, well, ancient.

  ‘It’s not that amazing,’ sniffed Plexis, as we stepped out of the customs offices. He shrugged at the gate and the wall to the city. ‘A whole city built of volcanic stone. It’s very grey and dreary.’ But his jaw dropped when we rounded the corner leading to the Circus Maximus, the biggest sports arena in the world at that time. On Capitoline Hill there was the temple Jupiter Optimus Maximus, where Juno, Minerva, and Jupiter were worshipped. It was huge. ‘What are all those geese doing there?’ Plexis pointed to a huge flock of grey, brown, and white geese that appeared to be nesting on the steps of the temple.

  ‘Those are the sacred geese of Juno, and they alerted the soldiers guarding Rome when barbarians tried to creep up on them,’ I said, remembering my history lessons.

  ‘A flock of geese is called a gaggle,’ said Alexander, taking my elbow. ‘Careful, the path is steep here. I like how they’ve used the hills to fortify the city. When you’re at the bottom, you can’t tell what’s on the other side. If I were going to attack …’

  ‘No drawing up battle plans,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Instead, look at how cleverly they’ve used cement to make these tall buildings. They press stones or bricks into the wet cement for decoration.’

  The men were suitably impressed. I noticed that Alexander was standing up very straight, walking with his military step, and that Plexis had adjusted his cloak to hide the mended part. Axiom kept stopping to gape, which made Alexander bump into him once – they were both staring at the palace – which made Alexander very cross. We felt like country bumpkins, but not for long. It was Axiom who pointed out the graffiti on the walls. A lot of it was about Alexander and his conquests, most of it very flattering, and he soon regained his confidence.

  We had arrived in the city at the same time as the salt gatherers were leaving to go to the salt flats, part of Rome’s most important riches. The men were walking to work; their long wooden rakes balanced on their shoulders, empty baskets dangling from their hands. They would return by sunset to sell their salt at the salt market, held in the cool of the evening at the central marketplace.

  The sun warmed the brick walls of the town, and the streets became crowded. The early morning market was over, mid-morning was the time for business and work. Important-looking men strode through the streets, bodyguards clearing the way for them. A couple times we saw chariots with drivers and their passengers, but most people walked. On every street, slaves worked very hard cleaning the gutters and walls, cooking, painting, fetching, and whatever slaves did to stay useful.

  In the bustling streets, women chatted and gossiped. Most held baskets to carry their shopping, and some had children, attached to short leashes. One or two had dogs, also on leashes, and a few women had slaves or servants with them. In contrast with the Celtic women, those of Rome wore simple, almost drab clothing.

  As we walked, I became interested in the hundreds of plaques encrusted in nearly every wall. They were put up to commemorate an event, and the Romans loved an ‘event’; everything was an excuse for a new engraved plaque. For example, on the Forum wall I found an inscription to Romulus. I was forever pausing to read the inscriptions, and Alexander was obliged to drag me along after him, telling me I’d have plenty of time to sightsee another day.

  Scipio’s uncle lived on the outskirts of Rome, so we took the north road past the Quirinal hill outside the walls of Rome into the countryside. We skirted the farmer’s market, following the directions a haughty Roman citizen had given us.

  We arrived shortly after noon, the hot sun beating upon our heads, our legs weary from walking on the – albeit excellent – roads. All the roads were carefully paved with smooth, flat rocks. They were wide and straight, with benches beneath shady trees. Another plus were the clearly marked fountains and signs everywhere. The only dusty part had been a short detour around a section of road under repair.

  We arrived in front of a lavish gate with the inscription “GENVS AVGVSTVS” carved in a plaque of hard black marble. The gate was similar to the ones we’d seen in Gaul; it had two stone pillars, a stone cattle guard, and a wrought-iron door. We entered through a small door on the side, leaving the one for chariots and wagons closed. A slave was at the entrance, opening and closing everything. He was a young boy, about ten years old, and he fell into step beside us, asking our names and the reason for our visit. When he’d memorized everyone’s name, he sprinted ahead down the long, cypress-lined driveway to announce us.

  As we arrived, a slender woman stepped onto the porch and held her arms out dramatically.

  ‘Scipio! Scipio!’ she called, ‘Oh, m
y darling nephew!’

  We stood back and let the boy greet his family. He wept in his aunt’s arms and then wiped his face and shook hands bravely with his uncle. I let my eyes wander around the front yard. It was very beautiful, shaded by old walnut trees with cypress and laurel hedges delineating the different gardens.

  There was a circular terrace laid out with large paving stones, with a fountain and fishpond in the centre. Benches were placed in the shade of a willow tree. Laurel hedges then curved around a rose garden before becoming straight again and leading off towards the stables. At the stables I caught a glimpse of a slave leading four horses to a large stone watering trough. Another slave was sweeping a path paved in round bricks, and I wondered how many workers it took to keep the place up. The hedges were all perfectly clipped and everything was clean and shiny, especially the inside of the Roman’s house.

  ‘It’s just a small property, really,’ said Scipio’s uncle modestly. ‘I have a greater estate in Gaul, looked after by my overseer. We go there during the summer months when it gets too hot here.’

  I sipped my watered wine while I admired the painted walls and tiled floors. The furniture was comfortable, and it was nice to be sitting after our long walk.

  ‘You came from the docks by foot? My poor boy! So tell me everything. News came only yesterday of your father’s death. Carthage has declared war on Rome, nothing new I assure you. The Senate will meet later today and we’ll decide what to do; a diplomat or two should smooth over the problem.’ Scipio’s uncle, Augustus, smiled at us. He was a tall, handsome man, sure of his estate, his power, and his wealth.

  Scipio’s aunt, named Elaina, sat on a low chair and dabbed at her eyes. She had cried bitterly at the news of her brother’s death, and she swore to Scipio that she would take care of him and love him like a mother. She was theatrical, but she was a striking woman with golden eyes and jet-black hair. She was dressed in a simple but lovely robe made of fine silvery-grey linen, and she wore a necklace that any museum in the world would give millions to own. It was made of emeralds and rubies, set with intricately carved gold beads. Every now and then she would reach up and touch it lightly, as if to reassure herself it was still there.

  ‘Dry your tears, wife,’ said Augustus to Elaina. ‘Since the gods did not bless us with children, we will adopt your brother’s son. My nephew Scipio will be my legal heir.’

  Scipio wiped the tears off his face. ‘I am honoured, Uncle. I swear to bring only honour to your name.’

  ‘A blessing upon us!’ cried Elaina. ‘Bring wine, that we may celebrate. We will mourn later, when the proper sacrifices have been made. We cannot have a procession or cremation, but we will commemorate him during the Parentalia. Did anyone catch his last breath?’

  ‘No,’ Scipio replied, new tears welling in his eyes.

  ‘What is the Parentalia? I asked.

  ‘A holiday to honour the family’s ancestors. We have it in the winter, and in the spring we appease their ghosts with another ceremony.’ Augustus gave me a bemused look. ‘Where are you from? You speak Latin well, but your accent is a strange one.’

  ‘I’m from …’ I stopped, unsure what to say.

  Alexander said, ‘She comes from the far north. Ah, here is the wine. Shall we drink a toast to Scipio’s new family?’

  We drank a toast to Scipio, to his father, to his new parents, and then we were free to do as we pleased. Rooms were being prepared for us and lunch would be served on the back terrace. I staggered off to find a bath. I was more than a little drunk; all those toasts on very little breakfast were making my head swim.

  I was glad to sink into a large marble tub filled with warm water and soak for a while. I was even happier to find shampoo and soap from Gaul, and when I was through bathing and dressed in clean robes, I felt sober again. Then a bronze bell was rung from somewhere deep in the house, and slaves came to lead us to lunch. I made sure Paul’s tunic was clean, that he’d washed his face and hands and behind his ears. Then I gave him a kiss and we descended the wooden stairs together.

  A tall pine tree cast blue shade onto the terrace where we were seated on comfortable chairs in front of a table covered with incredible mosaics. First, plates of fresh anchovies marinated in oil and a stuffed sow’s vulva were passed around. I ate some of the former. I didn’t even try a bite of the latter. A whole carp was presented afterwards. It had been cooked, cooled, and set in clear aspic surrounded by watercress and slices of apple. We ate it cold, with various spicy sauces. For dessert, we were treated to almonds dipped in salt and honey and freshly sliced melon with cardamom seeds. I admired the glassware – Phoenician – and the knives – from Gaul.

  The Romans, as I soon discovered, had the weirdest food I’d ever eaten. They ate things that would make a Persian cringe – and Persians would eat just about anything. Romans mixed honey or salt in unexpected ways, serving sweetened meat, salted wine, bread stuffed with herbs, and birds stuffed with fish. Eels were a favourite addition – they were served with just about anything, the result being a rather strong, fishy taste to many dishes.

  The Romans knew how to live. They adored their comfort, and I had yet to find a –wealthy – Roman’s house that didn’t have central heating, toilets, and running water. Plebeians had a simpler life. They lived in buildings that were often heated with bronze braziers. However, most of them did have running water, thanks to water towers. The city dwellers lived in apartment buildings often five stories high. They had to descend into the streets to fetch water.

  Mindful of the stories that I’d heard about lead poisoning, I relied on spring water to quench my thirst, and there were many springs and spring-fed fountains. The city of Rome believed bread should be free to the poor. They could go to a special bakery and serve themselves. They even had something like food stamps, enabling them to buy food for their children too. As did Athens, Rome took care of her citizens.

  Right after lunch, Augustus went to Rome. He stood in a chariot pulled by two black horses and driven by a Macedonian slave named Polliana. Polliana was a man, despite the name, and he was thrilled to find Alexander was from Macedonia. He spoke of Iskander the Great Conqueror in such glowing terms that Alexander was quite taken with him, even whispering to me that he was thinking about buying his freedom from Augustus. I was all for it, the fewer slaves the better, in my opinion, but the ever-practical Plexis wanted to know if Polliana would still be able to keep his job with Augustus, and if we really needed a chariot driver right now. ‘We don’t have a chariot for him to drive, and we don’t have the money to buy him anyway,’ I said. ‘Our resources are dwindling rapidly. Pretty soon we’ll be begging on the street.’

  ‘You can beg,’ said Plexis, pointing at my hand. ‘Just take that off and hook a basket over your arm. Try to look pitiful. The pregnancy will help – people are suckers for poor widows.’

  ‘Very funny.’ I scowled, then gave a sigh. ‘I miss our house on the hill. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to living anywhere but a tent, but I loved Alexandria. When do you think we’ll be back?’

  ‘I heard from Ptolemy, he’s moved the seat of his government to Alexandria. It won’t be easy living there. I’m thinking we’ll have to settle somewhere else. Why not here in Rome?’ Alexander asked.

  I blinked. The idea that we could settle somewhere other than Alexandria hadn’t crossed my mind. But why not? Rome seemed a civilized place. ‘We still need money’, I said.

  ‘I’ll send a message to Ptolemy. He’ll send funds to Pompeii, which is where we’re headed next. We’ll have to go to Alexandria anyhow to fetch the children and settle our business there. I wonder how Usse will feel about moving with us to Rome? And Brazza too. I hope they’ll stay with us. We’ll have to get a big house – with stables – I didn’t forget you, Plexis. Oh, and then we can buy Polliana.’ Alexander had a one track mind.

  Chapter Eight

  We borrowed Polliana and one of Augustus’s chariots and went to Rome again next day. Plexis, Al
exander, Axiom, and I were eager to go, but Paul wanted to stay with his new friends. I insisted he accompany us, figuring it would be a good chance for him to get a ‘future’ lesson, and for me to see the splendour of Rome while it was still untarnished or jammed with hover cars and tourists.

  Well, there were no hover cars, of course, but there were tourists. Barbarians came from all over to see Rome, although it pained Alexander, and especially Plexis, to hear themselves referred to as ‘barbarians’.

  ‘Roman citizens in this line, barbarians over there,’ called out a man in a strong voice as we lined up to buy tickets to the show at the circus.

  ‘Barbarian? I’m Greek,’ sputtered Plexis.

  ‘And I’m —’ He got no further. I clapped my hand over Alexander’s mouth.

  ‘We want tosee the show, not star in it,’ I said, shaking my head and whispering fiercely. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if anyone got wind of who you were? How much do you think you’re worth? Don’t you know there are some who would pay a fortune to see you in the arena? It’s big business here. So don’t, I beg of you, don’t breathe a word to anyone about your identity.’

  ‘What about the papers we filled out in the customs building?’ he asked, a glint in his blue eye.

  ‘No one ever reads official documents. They just get stored. The only ones who’ll ever read them are archaeologists who will find them thousands of years from now. Now get into the barbarian line and be quiet.’

  Plexis bit back a laugh as Alexander glared at him, but the glare lacked conviction, and I thought he was strangely quiet for the remainder of the afternoon.

  ‘What do you suppose he’s thinking?’ I asked Plexis, drawing him aside as we toured the palace behind a group of Egyptians, two large, hairy Gauls, and a rowdy bunch of Iberians.

  ‘I don’t know, but I heard him muttering, “barbarian indeed” a couple times. I don’t like the look in his eyes.’ Plexis whispered back. ‘Wow, did you see that staircase? A whole regiment could march down it abreast. I think the statues are creepy, especially the eyes. In Greece we don’t make them look so life-like. Granted, we paint the robes, but we don’t do eyes like that.’ Plexis leaned towards a statue and would have touched it, but the tour guide barked at him and he drew back.