Страница 48 из 75
Everything seemed fairly routine. There were the usual incidents of slaves dropping overloaded dishes so pints of sticky brown liquid sprayed across the central serving floor. A woman fainted in the heat from the lamps and food-warmers and was carried out headfirst. Caenis made the mistake of accepting an hors-d'oeuvre that looked like eggs in fish-pickle relish—fairly safe, she surmised—but which turned out to be anonymous crustaceans, boiled to a fibrous mush and floating in sadly coral-colored grease. On the whole all the food was overcooked, overspiced, and oversalted; then it had stood too long before serving, so none of it was warm. Demetrius did manage to commandeer her a decent artichoke in hot herb sauce; the calf's tongue in fe
Caenis began to long for a plain honey omelette in a bowl she knew was clean.
Most of the time she could not quite see Brita
Nero looked in ghastly good form. He was seventeen, an uncouth age at which most Romans were kept decently out of sight by the parents they oppressed. He did try to demonstrate the rudiments of culture—sculpture, singing, writing poetry, recitation, the harp—but it all turned out too labored. He had no natural artistry. Caenis, who so loved music, was hoping that he would not sing tonight.
The slaves had carried out the serving tables once; they now brought in others with the fruit and the dessert. She risked a dish of custard, mainly because she was attracted by the pretty green glass in which it came; she regretted it at the first curdled mouthful, then listlessly nibbled a pear. She still had a headache, and she wanted to go home.
By this time she was feeling the melancholy irritation of a woman on her own at a party who has realized she is twice the age of most of her fellow guests. This was a young man's court. She had strayed into a world she found shallow and loud. Foolish laughter surrounded her—shrieking girls in off-the-shoulder necklines and youths who were almost too drunk to finish a sentence trying to tell long-winded pointless jokes. One of Veronica's huge earrings was pinching her ear. She even experienced a faint trace of hostility toward her young host.
The attendants, by now red-faced and too harassed even to try to be polite, were carrying out the half-demolished pastry towers; others were sweeping up the litter of stalks and peel and pips. Standards among both diners and attendants were definitely starting to relax.
Nero had poured a formal libation at the start of the meal; there had been wine mixed with honey after each course; now the heavy drinking would start. Short-legged boys, puffing with exertion, struggled in with giant decorated cauldrons of steaming wine infused with ci
There was a pause. Following ancient Roman custom, slaves paraded round the room with the imperial family's household gods. The small bronze statues of dancing lares held up their horns of plenty as gracefully as those in any ordinary home. They were left on the low table immediately in front of the group of youngsters among whom Brita
A ruffle of movement, a wave of anticipation, started at the top table, then rolled along each arm of the room, as the flagon-bearers served the first wine. The noise, which was by then making her head throb at every movement, dimmed slightly as people stopped their animated chatter to watch the mixing of their drinks. Skillful slaves poured the hot crimson liquor through fu
While his taster was occupied with his goblet of wine, Brita
She noticed Nero pause in his conversation, critical perhaps that the young man should openly salute his grandmother's ex-slave. She shook her head at Brita
The wine was too hot for him. Before he drank, he held out the cup to be topped up with cold water by a waiting slave. At once he took it back, tipped it casually to the watching Emperor, then raised it—formally, between both his long hands—to his lady guest. She had been kind to him, and Brita
There was nothing she could do. Caenis realized at once. The taster had made no attempt to try it; he would have been warned not to. The poison must be in the cold water.
If she had called out, Brita
Brita
At the first mouthful he dropped the cup. His whole body convulsed. He stopped breathing. He fell. Brita
* * *
Everyone stopped talking. Everyone looked at the Emperor.
Slaves had scattered in terror; Brita
Nero said—a
Caenis was already halfway from the room.
As she went she turned back once, to glance at Octavia. The girl sat motionless. There was no lack of courage there. Her brother had been killed by her husband in front of her, and she had to endure it. Nobody would support her if she tried to protest.