The Eternal Banquet

by Jennifer Macaire

  ‘I hope Alexander’s not going to do anything foolish,’ I said to Plexis worriedly. ‘He is acting strangely.’

  He was unnaturally silent, preoccupied, with his head tilted and a faraway look in his eyes. He used to look like that when I first met him. When he was in the midst of battle plans against his biggest enemy, Darius, or when he was dreaming up some impossible scheme. Although, to do him credit, it usually worked. He was probably imagining ways to conquer the city. Good thing he didn't have his army with him. I sighed and turned to Paul. ‘What do you think of Rome?’ I asked.

  ‘Amazing,’ he said, ‘really eely.’

  ‘Really eely”?’ I asked.

  ‘It means “great”. Everyone says that,’ he explained. ‘Scipio’s cousins told us.’

  ‘Maybe they were just teasing,’ I said. But then again, young people always had their own slang, even in these times. Really eely?

  We passed a gymnasium where women in bikinis were exercising. The women were just visible if you peered through the arched doorways. The bikinis they wore were interesting, made of what looked like suede or knitted material. The women were jumping rope, playing with a large inflated ball, or jumping in unison in an aerobics class. Afterwards, they could swim in the heated pool inside the gymnasium. There was a women’s side and a men’s side. I wanted a glimpse of the men, but Alexander took my arm and pulled me away.

  ‘We’re losing the tour group,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a very nice city,’ I remarked for the hundredth time, strolling up the Cardo, the main street, which ran north to south. It was perpendicular to the second main street of Rome, called the Decumanus, running east to west. All the streets were parallel to either of these two streets, creating perfectly square or rectangular tenement blocks, called insulae. It was hilly, and we hiked up and down, with alternating views of the river and city.

  ‘Not as nice as Alexandria,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But I think I could get used to living here.’

  I looked at him but he was busy measuring the width of the street with his eyes, taking in the pedestrian crossings and the garbage bin placed in the alley. ‘Too many policemen,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They are everywhere.’

  ‘Waiting to catch someone pissing, swearing, or spitting so they can fine them,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose they need funds to pay those policemen. I wonder if they have quotas,’ Alexander said.

  ‘I think it’s a pity everything nice is reserved for Roman citizens. Even the nicest hotels. Alexandria is much more democratic,’ I said.

  ‘I wonder how long that will last. Ptolemy is a snob.’

  Alexander stopped speaking for a while, and we wandered after the group listening to the guide as he spoke about the wonders of Rome. Paul and Axiom were paying close attention, Plexis was looking in the boutiques, and the Iberians started to sing a loud song. A policeman strode towards them with a determined look on his face and a wax tablet in his hands.

  ‘No singing unless it’s praise for the Roman gods,’ he said sternly. ‘Rule number sixteen. If you continue you’ll be fined three sesterces.’

  The Iberians were outraged; they’d been singing a song about good food and wine, and a very fine song it was indeed. However the policeman wouldn’t budge, so they reluctantly quieted down and went on their way, until one of them got the idea of replacing the food with the names of the Roman gods. They started again, braying all about delicious Juno, spicy Venus, and hot and tasty Minerva, which made more than one Roman turn and stare.

  Alexander grinned and then sighed again. He looked almost melancholy.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked him.

  ‘I'm still not used to being a tourist. You were right when you told me I had to learn to let the world turn without me pushing it along. I keep thinking there is something I have to do or people I have to see. Don't worry. I'll get over it.’

  The Iberians were now kicking in rhythm, narrowly missing a matron out walking her dog. The dog barked frantically, yap-yapping as little dogs tend to do.

  The Iberians stopped and stared. Small dogs were not common in Iberia.

  ‘What is this?’ asked one, bending over and peering at the curly-haired pet. To get a better look, he reached down and picked up the dog by its tail, making it screech.

  The others gathered around, ignoring the fuss the woman was making. ‘Put my Popsia down right now!’ she ordered, waving her arms.

  ‘What is a “Popsia”? Is it a cat?’ asked one of the big men.

  ‘What can it be? It’s quite unique! Look, all those curls! Where did you find it?’ asked another Iberian to the Roman woman.

  The woman snatched her dog out of his hands and hurried down the street, muttering angrily about barbarians and how Rome was going to come to a bad end if they didn’t crush them all now, immediately, before they overran the city completely. ‘Get civilized!’ was her parting shot to the bemused Iberians.

  The tour guide came back to get the Iberians, hastily explaining to them that small dogs were cherished pets and that they were not to bother them in the future.

  ‘Is it in the rules?’ asked the tallest Iberian, the one who’d started singing. ‘Rule number thirty-six. No holding cherished pets by their tails on public streets!’ He mimicked the policeman perfectly, causing his friends to howl in delight.

  The tour guide started to get a haunted look.

  Plexis and Axiom were waiting impatiently with the Egyptians, the Gauls having abandoned the tour to find something for lunch. Paul, Alexander, and I were standing nearby, watching the antics of the Iberians and wondering who would get fined first. Alexander wanted to bet, making me retort that he was getting as bad as the Roman soldiers. Paul giggled and said he was betting on the tall fellow, and father and son put their heads together to decide how much they would bet, and what the loser would have to do.

  We set out again, Plexis and Axiom listening carefully to the guide, the Egyptians walking in single file and not making any comments about anything, then the Iberians, Paul and Alexander, and me, bringing up the rear. I was content to walk slowly, savouring the sights and smells, listening sometimes to the guide and sometimes to the Iberians. They were wondering where they could get a good dinner and asked the guide to recommend a restaurant. We were not far from a small bar, called a thermopolium, which sold cups of wine and pickled fish and eels. There were also different sorts of bread, some cheese, and a choice of fresh fruit. We elected to stop and have lunch, and so we ate, standing at the counter.

  That was my introduction to Rome, and I thought I could get to like it. The city was clean and spacious, the citizens on the whole were pleasant, and the food was, well, interesting.

  We left the guide to his Iberians and made our way to the docks. We’d seen enough for one morning. Axiom took leave of us; he was going to return to the villa. Before we’d left, Elenia had asked him to stop at the sandal-maker and pick up a pair of fine leather shoes she’d ordered. I looked at the shoes. They had two-inch heels, pointed toes, and pretty laces. I compared them to my flat, uninteresting sandals, and immediately made plans to spend money on new shoes. Shoes were the fashion accessory in ancient Greece and Rome; styles changed constantly. I had always preferred the practical to the fashionable, but that was when I was walking twenty kilometres a day with the army. Now I could find something that flattered my feet.

  When we arrived at the river, we found a crowd gathered around the dragon boat. Phaleria had started trading at the docks. She would continue trading for the next few days, taking her goods to the various marketplaces around the city. Erati had gone off in search of supplies, and Oppe and Kell had gone with him, leaving Vix and Demos to help Phaleria. Yovanix sat on a stool, whittling something from a piece of hardwood, the dog Perilous at his feet. Paul went to him and started telling him all about the sights we’d seen, describing it all in perfect detail. His powers of observation were keen, and his words painted an amazingly accurate picture of Rome, much to Yovani
x’s delight.

  I sat down next to them, content to listen to Paul’s bright chatter. My belly was getting bigger, and I wondered if I were carrying twins. I hoped not; twins tended to come early, and I wanted time to see Pompeii and get back to Alexandria before giving birth. I did a quick calculation in my head, and decided I had fifteen weeks before the baby arrived. A tiny kick made me grin. I loved being pregnant and feeling a new life bloom within me. It was a miracle each time it happened, no matter how common an occurrence it was. I wondered if ‘common miracle’ was an oxymoron, then decided not.

  After sitting for a while, I felt more energetic and decided to go for a short walk along the docks. I was interested in the other wares and boats. There were nearly twenty of them docked, and more were pressing from behind. Small skiffs were rowed back and forth as customs officials, fishermen, and traders jockeyed for position at the docks. Goods arrived from all over the known world. I caught a whiff of spices and headed in that direction. There was a flash of red-gold as a brilliant scarf was unfolded, and a donkey brayed loudly, adding to the cacophony of men’s and women’s voices arguing and bargaining. People stared as I walked by. I was still an oddity. Now, far from the north, I stuck out again. My platinum hair and icy eyes were drawing overt glances from everyone. However, I paid no attention. I bent over a basket of brightly coloured wool skeins, and then admired an exquisite vase made from Phoenician glass. It was striped like a zebra on top, black and white, and like a tiger on the base, yellow and black. There were other vases and lamps, but this one caught my eye, and I wished I could buy it for Alexander. He would have loved its sparkling beauty.

  The trader saw my covetous gaze and he barked out a price that seemed astronomical. I shook my head, making a face. I moved on, past screaming parrots tied to a large branch, past cheap rugs woven from reeds, and some more expensive carpets made from wool, until I arrived at the end of the dock where two or three boats vied for the little space that was left. They were trying to unload in unison, everyone crying out, pushing and shoving his neighbour aside.

  Suddenly a sack of beans spilled over and a flood of dried peas made footing treacherous. There came a loud splash as a merchant skidded off the dock. His armload of feather dusters shot into the air like a flock of ungainly egrets. I backed out of the way as another person stepped on the peas and slithered wildly. He hadn’t been carrying anything, but to save himself from falling, he grabbed a man holding two bales of cotton, and they both went down with a resounding thud. The bales of cotton bounced, hitting another man in the back, and he in turn fell into the arms of a stout matron who had been shopping on the docks. She dropped her basket of goods, and eggs broke and apples rolled as she shrieked. Another fellow dived for the apples and crashed into a large cage that popped open with a splintering sound. Out bounded three large baboons, obviously thrilled to get free, and even more excited by the noise and fuss. Utter pandemonium broke out as the apes leapt into the crowd, tails held high and wicked teeth bared in huge grins. I turned and ran, not wishing to become entangled in the fracas. People were coming from everywhere, trying to catch a glimpse of the action or trying to see what was going on.

  I had to fight through a growing crowd of bystanders. I was torn between wanting to laugh aloud and real fright; I was six months pregnant and didn’t fancy a tumble or a fall into the water. I could swim; but there were boats everywhere and I didn’t want to get run into.

  Suddenly a strong arm reached out and grabbed me, pulling me through the crowd. ‘Down here!’ came a voice I didn’t recognize, and I was half shoved, half carried off the dock and onto a low barge.

  My first reaction was to scream, but then I realized I was free of the crowd and the narrow dock. I turned to thank my saviour and saw it was the merchant with the striped glass. He bowed very low and his tall, pointed cap nearly fell off his head.

  ‘It was getting terribly crowded on the dock,’ he said, ‘and I had to move my precious merchandise. I saw you, and decided you looked precious too. Like one of my finer vases. Did you see this one?’ He lifted the corner of a linen sheet and uncovered a scintillating blue vase made of transparent glass in all the hues of tropical, turquoise water. I uttered a gasp.

  ‘That is very lovely,’ I admitted, ducking as an apple came flying through the air. ‘Maybe you’d better store the glass down below until things calm down.’

  ‘I think I’d better.’ The merchant clapped his hands and a slave poked his head out of the hatch. ‘Start putting the fragile goods back in the crates. We’ll skip the dock market for now; we’ll set up again when things calm down, and if they don’t, we’ll take some glass to the salt market this evening.’ The slave began to pack everything up and I helped. After all, the merchant had saved me – I could help save a few cups and plates.

  The uproar on the docks had not abated. Policemen were now trying to calm everyone, and people were falling off the docks into the water with loud splashes.

  ‘I hope my husband is not too worried about me,’ I said, trying to catch a glimpse of Alexander. I could make out the prow of the dragon ship rising high into the air, but I couldn’t see anyone I knew in the crowd.

  ‘Come below deck. Just sit here for a moment, you’ll be safer. Yousaff! Get the lady a cool drink! You look pale, are you feeling all right?’

  I nodded and sat on a low stool covered with a beautiful tapestry. The slave Yousaff poured me a drink from a glass pitcher that had been standing in a brass bucket filled with water. I took it and drank gratefully; it was fresh orange juice with a touch of spice mixed in it. ‘Thank you, I was thirsty,’ I admitted.

  ‘Have you been shopping all morning? Where are your goods? Did you lose them in the bustle? Shall I send Yousaff to fetch them?’

  ‘No, I had nothing with me. However, if you would be so kind to give a message to the captain of the dragon boat, Phaleria, and tell her I’m here. I don’t want anyone to worry about me.’

  ‘Excellent idea. I will go myself. A loud smash sounded from the docks as an amphora hit the wood and shattered. The trader winced, bowed low, and said, ‘I forgot to introduce myself. David, glass and papyrus trader from Byblos.’

  ‘I hope that it wasn’t your amphora that just broke,’ I said.

  ‘No, I don’t believe it was. Yousaff, guard the lady. I’ll be back shortly. Would you like a litter or some guards to accompany you to your boat?’

  ‘No, honestly, I feel so silly. I’ll just walk back myself when calm is restored. I would go now, but I’m pregnant, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to get pushed into the harbour.’

  ‘The gods blessed you! How wonderful. I congratulate your family.’ He beamed and made a sign with his hand, another god-sign that I’d never seen. I didn’t ask him what it was. It was considered rude to notice those quick motions made when the gods must be either appeased or thanked. I sipped my orange juice and relaxed, letting my gaze wander around the inside of the richly furnished boat. It was full of many beautiful glass objects: bottles; cups; perfume flasks; vases; and lamps. One lamp swung from a short chain attached to the ceiling with a little pulley, so it could be raised or lowered over the low square table in the centre of the room. The table was carved from massive wood and inlaid with ivory and coral around the edges. Precious writing materials were arranged in gilded boxes, and sheets of papyrus were carefully stacked next to them. On the floor sat four large pillows, one on each side of the table. They were covered with tapestry and embroidered with bright wool. On my right there was a bed covered with rugs and furs. Beneath it was a large wooden drawer where the glassware had been stored, and baskets woven from dark brown reeds lined the walls. There were wooden boxes carefully marked to show their contents, and a snowfall of pale woodchips on the floor attested to the fact that the fragile glass was often packed in sawdust.

  Alexander had told me that the best papyrus came from Byblos, and that the Greeks called it biblos, the root of words like ‘bibliotheca’ and ‘bible’, whic
h meant library and book. The Romans would take those words for their own, and in my time, in France for example; you went to a bibliothèque to borrow books. Parchment, vellum, and then paper would gradually replace the scrolls of papyrus, but right now the best place to buy writing materials was Byblos.

  The glass was amazing too. I admired the goblet I was holding. Before the Phoenicians came along and started making glass, it had been opaque. The Phoenicians had a high percentage of quartz in their sand and the glass they made was transparent. They added different elements to make brilliant colours and were the most talented glassmakers in the world. They moulded it, spun it, cut and polished it, and made exquisite objects. Fragile, and nearly all lost to time. I contemplated a shipment of glass that would have cost a fortune in my own era. Museums would have fought wars to get the pitcher made of scintillating pink quartz glass beaded with sparkles of palest green, blue, and yellow glass along the sides. The handle was braided, made of perfectly clear glass, and the spout was carefully formed to catch the last drop.

  It was a heavy object. Yousaff carried it with his two hands, and he was reverently careful when he picked it up and put it down.

  I finished my juice and gave the cup back to Yousaff, who took it with a little bow. I thanked him and he nodded. ‘Would you like more?’ he asked, in cultured Greek.

  My face must have reflected my surprise, because he smiled wryly. ‘I was not always a slave,’ he said. ‘My parents were rich merchants in Tyre.

  ‘How did you become a slave then?’ I asked.

  ‘When Alexander the Conqueror vanquished the city, my tribe was massacred and I was sold into slavery. I was still a child then, only thirteen years old.’